Joey's Surprise
by Bo N. Arro
Summary: After the death of her husband, Melinda believes she needs no one. That is, until she falls in love again. But will Bobby's past make him off-limits? Complete.
1. The Sweetest Girl

This is an original story that I wrote several years ago.  It is similar to Janette Oke's love and daily life novels.  I posted it here quite by accident.  I got sidetracked, and when I came back, Ithought I was posting it at FictionPress.com.  But since it was already here, I left it.

Copyright 2003 Bo N. Arro.  This story may not be copied without the express written permission of Bo N. Arro.

Melinda Warren sat sipping tea and reading one of last week's newspapers from the city.  "Texas Ranger, Michael Lexington, was shot by an alleged cattle rustler late Wednesday evening," she read aloud.  "Paxton Zimmermann was apprehended and will stand trial in Huntsville Monday afternoon."  She shook her head, her late husband's memory forcing her heart to her throat.  But then she heard her son, Joey, humming to himself, and she lowered the paper.  She swallowed hard and smiled at him as she watched him pull his sleep shirt over his wet head.

He clapped his hands and skipped to the kitchen table.  "Mama, I'm finished," he said.

Melinda set her teacup on its saucer.  "Did you wash behind your ears?" she asked.

Joey nodded wildly.  "Yes'm."

"And your neck?"

"Yep."

"Okay then."  She stood to her feet.  "Let's get those prayers said."

Joey grinned and darted upstairs toward his bedroom.  His tiny bare feet pitter-pattered on the wooden floor.  He was on his knees, eyes closed, before his mother entered the room.  Melinda sat down on the edge of the bed and smoothed the small boy's damp hair.  Joey mumbled and whispered.  His mother caught a few words here and there as she silently said her own prayer for her little Joey.

"Name of Jesus, amen," he said as he lifted himself into the bed.  Melinda tucked the light blanket around him.  "Mama."  He squinted against the light of the near lamp.

"Yes, Joey."

He wrinkled his nose.   "God and Jesus—they really answer our prayers, right?"

"Yes.  Yes, they do."  She paused and smiled.  "God answers our prayers the way He best sees fit."

The boy breathed in deeply.  "Good," he said.  "I can't wait to see how He sees best-like to answer my prayer."

"What are you praying for?"

Joey grinned.  "Can't tell.  It's a s'prise."

"Oh, really?"

"Yep.  You'll find out when God sends me the answer."

"Sounds like a deal."  Melinda kissed him on the forehead and blew out the lamp.  She stepped toward the door.

"Mama?"

"Yes, Joey."

"You'll like my s'prise."

"I'm sure I will, Joey."

"Night, Mama."

"Good night, big boy.  I love you."

"Love you, too."

Melinda brought her wagon to a stop outside Point Blank's general store.  Bobby Lester walked by, noted the young woman and her son, and nodded with a touch of his hat brim.

Melinda smiled.

Joey raised his hand and waved.  "Hi, Mr. Lester!"

Bobby waved back and then proceeded to the livery.

"You sure like that Bobby Lester, don't you?" Melinda asked her son as she helped him from the wagon.

"Yep.  He learned me how to rope a calf last week when I's at Aunt Birdie's house.  Mama, are we goin' to Aunt Birdie's house agin today?"

Melinda pushed open the store's heavy door.  "Don't you mean that he _taught _you how to rope a calf?"

Joey wrinkled his nose and narrowed his eyes.  "Oh.  Yep, he _taught_ me how ta rope a calf."

"I suppose we could go to Aunt Birdie's today," Melinda said.  "Do you want to buy her a present?  Next week is her birthday."

Joey bobbed his head with excitement.  "Can I git her a pocketknife?"

"A pocketknife?"

"Yeah."  He pointed to the glass display case.  "I heard her tell Uncle Red that she needed a new knife."

Melinda smiled.  "I bet that's not the kind of knife she was talking about."

Joey's eyes grew wide.  "A huntin' knife?"

"No, probably not a hunting knife either.  I bet she needs a new _kitchen_ knife."    

The boy's look of surprise faded.  "Oh."

Melinda reached for a bag of flour.  "Why don't you go look at the candies.  I bet Aunt Birdie would love some candy for her birthday."

"Okay."  He turned around.  "An' can I git me some too?"

"Sure," she said as she noticed a large group of people enter the store.  They were decked in colorful clothing and gold and silver jewelry.  She peered out the mercantile door and saw their covered wagons parked outside.  _Gypsies_, she thought, and she tried not to let her already established bad impressions cloud her mind.  Surely not all gypsies were like those with whom she had come in contact earlier in the month.

Mr. Hudson was busy trying to help the crowd of people, only pausing long enough to write Melinda's purchases in his ledger, so she stacked her parcels and attempted to carry them to her wagon herself.  As she approached the mercantile door, it swung open.  The bells jingled loudly.

"Let me help ya with these," a deep voice said.  Someone lifted several packages from her arms.  Melinda's view was cleared, and her eyes fell upon Bobby Lester.  She smiled faintly and then bit her lip.  Instead she nodded kindly.  He held the door open for her and then walked quickly to the wagon.

"Thank you, Mr. Lester," she told him when she finally caught up with him.

"You're quite welcome."  He lifted the boxes inside.  "And it's _Bobby_," he added._  "Mr. Lester_ was my father, and it makes me sound old."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"No, no, yer fine.  I just prefer Bobby."  He turned to Joey.  "Hey, buddy.  Whatcha got there?"

Joey held up a bag.  "We got some candies fer me an' Aunt Birdie.  Her birfday's next week."

"Oh, really?  That was nice of ya ta get her a present."

The boy grinned, but then he frowned suddenly.  "Mr. Lester, yer not married, are you?"

Bobby looked at Melinda who blushed and then shrugged.  "No, Joey," he said, "I'm not married.  Why d'ya ask?"

Joey thought for a moment.  "Oh, nothin' really.  I just see a lot of men here in town on Saturdays with their wifes.  I thought maybe you kept yers at home or somethin'."

"Nope, no wife at home."

"Okay, but if ya did, I wanted ta meet her."

Bobby chuckled and squatted down next to him.  "_You_ got a wife at home?"

Joey's mouth popped open in shock.  "No!  No!  I'm not old enough ta have a wife!"

Bobby grinned at Melinda and then turned back to the little boy.  "Well, iffen ya did, I wanted to meet _yers_."

Joey snickered and punched Bobby on the shoulder.  "Yer funny, Mr. Lester."

Melinda gasped.  "Joseph Dean!  You mind your manners!  You do _not _hit Mr. Lester."

Joey frowned.  "I was just kid…"  His voice trailed off.

Bobby held up a hand to the small boy.  "It's okay, Miss Melinda.  Mr_. _Lester…"  He cleared his throat.  "_Bobby_ knows his buddy's just playin' with him.  You _are_ still my buddy, ain't ya, Joe?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Well, then," said Bobby.  "I guess that settles it."  He turned toward the livery.  "I best go get my horse an' git over to Red an' Birdie's house.  Red an' me's got some brandin' ta do."

"We're goin' over there too!" Joey exclaimed.

"Great!  I'll see ya there."

Melinda slowed the wagon near a patch of wild blackberries.  "Do you want to pick some berries?" she asked Joey.

He turned toward the green leaved bushes and squinted against the late morning sun.  He shrugged.  "I don't know."

"Aunt Birdie would love to have some," Melinda said.  "But it's your decision.  We won't stop if you don't want to."

"I like them too," the boy said.  "But the stickers hurt my fingers, an' my han's turn all red from the juice."

"Yes or no?" his mother asked again.  "We could be careful of the thorns."

He thought momentarily.  "Okay," he finally said.  "But let's make them part of Aunt Birdie's birfday present.  'Kay?"

Melinda pulled on the reigns to stop the team.  "Alright."  She hopped from the wagon and reached for her son.  When he was firmly on the ground, she snatched a basket from under the seat.  "We'll just fill this little basket up, and then we'll be on our way."

Joey nodded and walked toward the bushes.  "Mama, can we go swimmin' today?"

"Oh, I guess we could.  Would you like to ask Birdie to go with us?"

"Sure!"  Joey's eyes sparkled in the midmorning sun.  "Know what?  I thought of somethin' last night when I was takin' my bath."

"What's that?"

"I was thinkin'," he said as he pushed a blackberry into his mouth, "that Uncle Red must've got his name from the Indians."

Melinda looked up at him.  "Why do you say that?" she asked.

"Well, Mr. Lester said that all the Indians have names that tell somethin' 'bout theirselfs.  He said he had a friend named Runnin' Deer, an' he could run real fast.  So, since Uncle Red has reddish colored hair, that must be why his folks named him Red."

"Sounds like you've got it all figured out," Melinda said.  "But _Red_ is just his nickname.  His real name is Duncan, and um, his middle name's Reed, I think."

Joey nodded again.  "I 'member hearin' that once.  How come I don't have an Indian name?"

"We're not Indian," his mother told him.  "We are European.  English.  You are named after your daddy.  His middle name was Joseph.  And after _my_ daddy.  His name was Dean."

"Who are you named after?" was Joey's next question.

"My mother's great aunt, I think.  Her name was Melinda."

"What about yer middle name?"

Melinda stopped picking berries and thought about the query.  "I don't really know.  I can't remember anyone in our family named Diane.  Maybe my momma and daddy just liked it."

Joey changed the subject.  "How tall was my daddy?"

"He was a tall man," she answered.  "Probably taller than most men in town."

"Taller than Uncle Red an' Mr. Lester?"

"I'd say he was quite a bit taller than Mr. Lester and probably just a little taller than Red."

Joey yelped and jerked his hand away from the bush.  "Oh, those stickers!"

"Are you okay?"

He nodded and resumed his tasks of filling the basket and asking questions.  "Did my daddy have muscles?"

Melinda smiled.  "Yes, he had muscles.  He was very strong."

"I wanna be like my daddy," the boy said.

"You already are," Melinda whispered.

Birdie O'Brien met the Warren's wagon near one of the corrals.  "Well, if it ain't my _mean_ sister an' her _mean_ little boy."  She directed a mock scowl toward Joey.

"I ain't mean!"  He jumped to the ground near his aunt.  "An' Mama's only mean _part_ of the time."

Birdie giggled.  "Is that so?"

Joey shook his head in his customary wild nod.  "She let me buy ya a birfday present."  He handed her the bag of candy.  "An' we stopped an' picked ya some blackberries."  He pointed toward the basket on his mother's arm.

Birdie took the candy bag and tussled his hair.  "Well, thank you, li'l mister."  She held open the door for her family members.  "Can ya'll stay for lunch?  I'm makin' a peach cobbler with a jar of last year's preserves."

 "I don't see why not," Melinda replied.  "I don't have anything pressing to get finished.  I don't have to have Shalene's wedding dress done for another couple of weeks.  In fact we were going to ask you if you want to go swimming this afternoon.  Joey was wanting to go, and we thought you might want to tag along.  The lake looked clear this morning on the way into town."

Birdie pulled a loaf from the breadbox and began to cut slices.  "That'll be fun.  I need to clean out the chicken coop, but that can wait until tomorrow.  So is Shalene's weddin' dress the only thing you are workin' on right now?"

"That and some curtains for Mr. Morris.  But I'm glad for the break.  The spring had me so busy with Easter dresses and wedding gowns, I thought I was going to be sitting permanently at that sewing table."

"I'm so glad the seamstress business is goin' good for you," Birdie said.  "At first I wondered if you'd make enough money even to git by.  Well, I never would've dreamed that so many women don't know how to sew."

At that moment, the little boy jumped to his feet.  "Here comes Mr. Lester!  Mama, can I go an' help him an' Uncle Red bran' the calfs?"

"No, Joey, you'd be in the way," his mother answered.

Birdie looked up.  "Melinda, iffen ya don't mind, Red can sit him up on the fence," she said.  "I'm sure it'd be alright.  Red likes havin' 'im around."

"Please, Mama," Joey added.

"Oh, okay," Melinda consented.  "But you stay on the fence and out of their way.  Got it?"

He nodded, hair falling in his face, and he darted out the door.

"He's getting more and more like his daddy each day," Melinda said.  She sighed.  "My, I can't believe it's been a year since John died."

"Does Joey ask about him?" Birdie wondered.

"Sometimes.  He doesn't remember him much, though.  He was too young.  But he asks what his daddy was like."

The sisters heard footsteps at the front door, and then a knock.  "C'mon in," Birdie said.

"Sorry to bother y'all ladies," Bobby Lester said as he wiped his boots on the doormat.  "I was just wonderin', Miss Birdie, iffen ya had an old rag I could use for a bandage."  He momentarily held out his left hand.  "Got a little cut, an' my bandana's dirty."

"A _little_ cut?  Looks _big_ to me," Birdie said.  "Let's see that."  She reached for his arm.

"Aw, it's nothin'," he insisted.

"Bobby, let me see it," she repeated.

"Don't argue with her, Mr. Lest…"  Melinda stopped.  "Bobby, I mean.  She likes to have things her way."  She bit her lip, waiting for her sister's inevitable response.  However, Birdie simply cleared her throat. 

"It's really nothin'," Bobby said again.  Both sisters looked at him seriously.  He breathed in deeply and held up his hand once more.  "Oh, alright."

Birdie intently examined the laceration.  "We'll need to wash it an' put some iodine on it.  It's pretty deep.  How'd ya cut it?"

"The wind stole my hat and sent it sailin' over the fence.  I caught my hand on a barb retrievin' the silly ol' thing."  He flipped his Stetson brim with his right forefinger.

After the wound was cleaned and dressed, Bobby started for outside.  "Thank you, Miss Birdie, for yer help.  An' you too, Miss Melinda, for yer concern."

"Oh, Bobby," Melinda called after him.

He stuck his head back inside.  "Yes, ma'am?"

"If Joey makes a nuisance of himself, just send him back in here," she told him.

"Oh, I'm sure he'll be fine, Miss Melinda.  He's a good li'l helper."  Bobby grinned.  "Like his Auntie an' his momma."  He shut the door behind him.

Melinda could not help smiling at the comment.  Bobby Lester was such a nice man.

Through the window, Birdie watched him walk across the yard to the barn.  "He's such a sweet man," she said, reflecting Melinda's thought.  "I wonder why he's not married."

Melinda's face solemned, and she shrugged.  "Maybe he's not the marrying type."

Birdie shook her head.  "I don't think that's the case.  An' he's awful good with kids."

"Speaking of children," the older sister said, "when are you and Red going to start a family?"

"We're tryin'," Birdie assured her.  "But it just ain't happened yet.  So we'll just have to borrow Joey once a week until it does."

"That's fine.  I'll share."

Birdie glanced out the window once more.  "What if…"  She chuckled mischievously.  "Suppose Bobby got to know the prettiest, sweetest girl, and just couldn't help fallin' for her?"

Melinda rolled her eyes.  "Sis, don't go poking your nose where it doesn't belong.  I'm sure Bobby doesn't need you to play cupid for him."

"Maybe not," she agreed.  "But someone else I know _does_."

"Who?"

"The prettiest, sweetest girl."

Melinda gave Birdie a confused look.  "And who might that be?"

"You."

"Me?  Oh, no you don't!"

"But, Melinda, you two are perfect for each other.  He's handsome and a hard worker an' a Christian and…"

"Birdie Sue!"

"_What?_"

Melinda sighed and bit her lip.  "Oh, nothing.  Just leave it alone."

"Well, you can't blame me for tryin'.  You've been alone too long.  An' you turn down every man who asks ta call.  I bet you don't even have an escort to the church picnic tomorrow."

She shrugged.  "No, I don't.  That Mr. Jacobs asked me.  But no thank you!  Every man who has asked to call has been… well… less than desirable.  They all acted as if I needed them, like I couldn't live without a husband.  I'll have you to know that I can manage fine on my own.  The only man I have ever _needed_ was John, and he's gone now.  And besides, I've only been alone a year."  Melinda sighed.  "Though a year can seem like an eternity, I remember Red's words like it was yesterday.  I can almost _hear_ him tell me about John."  Her voice cracked into a whisper.

"I'm sorry," Birdie apologized.  "I didn't mean to upset ya."

She shook her head.  "I'm fine.  But I _don't_ think I'm ready to… to… for _that_."

Birdie arranged the bread slices on a plate and then went for the cobbler.  "Okay, then just help me set the table.  Can you handle_ that_?"

Melinda threw her a look.  "Yes, I can handle that."


	2. Come Quick!

The water at Twin Lakes was perfect.  Melinda was glad to let her hair down and relax a little.  She'd been so busy over the past few months.  And the warm sun and breeze were relaxing.  She, her son, and her sister had the little swimming hole in the cove to themselves.  This was surprising on such a nice day.  School had ended the week before, and Melinda expected the children to be gathered at the lake.  Many of the town's youngsters spent almost every summer day there.  The farm kids came too, but not as often.   They helped their parents with farm chores.

Melinda sat on a large rock and soaked in the sunrays.  As Birdie slipped off her shoes, she said, "I'll go play with Joey.  You just take it easy."

Melinda smiled and nodded her agreement.  She leaned back against another warm rock and watched the sky.  The pine trees swayed gently, and wispy clouds floated above her.  She watched a hawk make lazy spirals, and a white crane swooped down into the water next to her.  She closed her eyes against the bright light.  A bumblebee or horsefly buzzed softly.  The cicadas sang their summer song.  They sang and sang and sang… and sang Melinda to sleep.

Melinda sat up sharply.  She hadn't meant to fall asleep.  As she opened her eyes, she could sense something was not right.  She glanced around her.  Where were Joey and Birdie?

"Mama!" she heard from behind her.  "Mama, come quick!"

She could not see Joey, but she ran toward his voice.  "Somethin's wrong with Aunt Birdie!"

"I'm okay, Joey," she heard Birdie say.  "I'm okay."

Melinda stepped beneath the shade of the tall pine trees.  Birdie was sitting on the ground, holding her leg, as Joey stood over her.  "Over here, Mama.  Aunt Birdie's hurt."

"What is it?" Melinda called.

"Just a scorpion sting," Birdie said.

Melinda reached her and squatted next to her sister.  "How did you manage that?"

After we swam, we decided to go for a walk to dry off.  We were looking at bugs under the rocks and stuff."

Joey gasped.  "And a big ol' scorpion camed out from a rock and stinged her foot."

"Is your leg numb?" the older sister asked.

Birdie nodded.  "Some.  Down toward my ankle.  And it's all tingly.  But it doesn't sting quite as much as it did at first."

"Can you walk?"

"Oh, yeah.  I'm fine.  It'll go away.  It's not the first time I've been attacked by one of those things, but never one that big."

"I don't think there are any deadly scorpions here in east Texas," Melinda stated.  "It may be a different kind that bit you this time than last.  We'd better get you home just in case.  Daddy was allergic to the stings, you know.  Let's watch you closely for the next little while."

Birdie nodded, stood and walked toward the shoreline where her shoes awaited.

Sunday was a beautiful early summer day.  Melinda couldn't remember a more glorious morning for a long time.  Everything about the world outside her window was perfect.  The sun was shining.  The sky was a wonderful shade of bright blue.  And puffy white clouds lined the horizon in almost every direction.  Birds had never sung so beautifully.  Birdie was right.  It was time to move on.  And today, Melinda decided, was the day she would put the events of the past behind her.  She would not think of Jonathan and feel sad.  She would remember the good times, and then concentrate on making the years ahead good for her and little Joey.  Who knew, she may even accept a man's offer to call.

She put on her prettiest dress, emerald green with ivory lace, and her favorite hat.  _I should have Birdie or the doctor pierce my ears, _she thought.  _There are some pretty little earbobs at the mercantile that I was looking at.  _As she admired herself in the mirror, she called to her son.  "Joey, put up your toys.  It almost time to go to church."

She heard a clatter in the room across the hall, and then Joey stepped through the doorway.   "Is today the day of the picnic?" he asked.

"Yes.  Yes, it is.  And the day you sing in the choir."

"I like ta sing," Joey said, "but Liam MacMurphy said that singing was for girls.  Is that true?"

"That's nonsense," she said as she tied the hat's ribbon under her chin.  "There's other men in the choir, aren't there?"

He nodded.

"Well, then.  And I'd say Mr. Manahan is the best singer in the county."  She paused and smiled.  "Except for you, of course."

Joey changed the subject.  "What'd ya make to eat fer dinner?"

"Fried chicken, cornbread, deviled eggs, and lemon tarts."

"Oh, wow!" the boy exclaimed.  "I told Chad Hoffines 'bout yer lemon things…uh, tarts?  He wants ta try one.  Can we sit with him an' 'is momma?"

"We'll see."  She pointed to his foot.  "Your pant leg is stuffed in your boot.  Pull it out please."  Joey complied.  Melinda pulled on her gloves, and they walked downstairs.

The church was full this day, fuller than usual.  It seemed that most everyone in town and many folks from the country had come out on this glorious morning.  The church picnics were the most exciting days of the year.

Melinda sat proudly as Joey stood in front of Birdie in his new place in the choir.  Mr. Manahan, the choir director walked to the podium and announced, "We have a new member of the choir today, our youngest member ever.  Please welcome Joseph Warren."  He clapped, as did the congregation.  Red even whistled.  "Joseph will sing us a special," the director continued, "_Joyful, Joyful_."  Mr. Manahan nodded toward Joey.

The boy looked at his mother and then his uncle Red.  And then he turned and looked at Birdie.  She smiled and stooped next to him.

"I'm scared," he whispered.

"Would you like me to help you?" she asked.

"Yes, please," he responded.

"I'll sing the first line," she said, "and then you sing the rest."  She stood back up, and the pianist played a chord.

"Joyful, joyful we adore Thee, God of glory, Lord of love…"  Birdie's voice rang out clear.

Joey took over quietly.  The audience strained to hear.  "Hearts unfold like flow'rs before Thee, op'ning to the sun above…"

The boy took a deep breath, and his voice came out more loudly and more sure.  "Melt the clouds of sin and' sadness.  Drive the dark of doubt away…"  By the time he finished the first verse, his tone was pure, his pitch perfect.  Melinda smiled as she marveled.  That was her boy!  The choir joined in on the second verse.

As the last note rang through the church rafters, the congregation began to clap.  And then they stood.  They gave Joey a standing ovation.  He grinned form ear to ear.

After church, Melinda carried her basket of food to the place Red and Birdie had already chosen.  Joey followed behind.  "But, Mama, I thought we were gonna sit by Chad."

"He and his momma can sit with us," Melinda said.  "I'll ask Betty to join us."  She sat down the basket and unfolded the quilt that had been draped over her arm.  When it was spread out over the grass, she searched for Betty and Chad.  She pointed toward the church house.  "There they are.  I'll go get them."

Melinda waved and approached the young lady and her son.  The mother seemed to be looking for someone.  Melinda smiled.  "Hello, Betty."  She looked down at the boy.  "And Mr. Chad."

"Good afternoon, Melinda," Betty smiled.  Chad simply waved his 'hello.'

"It seems," Melinda said, "that Joey wishes to share his favorite lemon tarts with you.  Would you care to sit with us?"

"Sure, I don't see why not.  It doesn't seem my escort's goin' to show up anyway.  He's prob'ly busy with his work."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," Melinda said.  "But we'd love to keep you company."

The two families were finishing the tarts when Bobby Lester and Doctor Stokely appeared around the corner of the church.  The doc was obviously explaining something complex to Bobby.  The cowboy's face reflected the subject matter.  Betty smiled and waved at them.  "There he is," she said.

The men spotted the group and joined them.  "Hey, you two," Betty said.  "I brought plenty of extra food.  Sit down an' have some."

"Yeah," Melinda agreed.  "I have a lot left too."

Bobby and Dr. Stokely sat down on opposite sides of the quilt.

Joey and Chad were now on their feet.  "Can we go play, Mama?" Joey asked.

"May we," Melinda corrected.  "And, yes, you may."

"Is it alright?" Chad asked Betty, and she nodded her answer.

"But you take it easy, Chad.  You're still not as strong as you were before you were sick."

"Yes, ma'am."  They ran toward a group of children playing some kind of game.

"Eat up," Betty told the men.

Bobby held up his hand.  "No thanks, Betty.  I haven't felt too great this mornin'.  That's why I wasn't at church.  I'm feelin' better now, but food ain't a good idea."

Melinda offered the doctor her basket.  "None for me either," he said.  "I just came from delivering Caesar and Chiquita Salazar's baby.  Caesar's mother was there and insisted I sample her flautas.  Wonderful cook, she is."

Red turned from his conversation with another rancher and welcomed the two men.  "Ya'll gotta try Melinda's lemon tarts," he said patting his stomach.  "They'll keep ya comin' back fer more.  Say, Melinda, has that outsider… what's his name… Sloan McCanne bothered you any more?"

Everyone in the group looked at Melinda.  Her cheeks blushed slightly.  "Mr. McCanne wants to buy my land," she explained.  "No, Red, he hasn't come out there for two or three days.  There for awhile, it was everyday."

"Well," Red added, "it seems your land isn't the only one he's got 'is eye on.  Asked me 'bout mine yesterday.  An' Quinton said he talked to _him_ on Friday."

"I've made it clear that I won't sell," Melinda said.  "John put too much work into that house and barn.  I'd have to be on my death bed before I'd consider such an idea."

"Same goes for us," Birdie said.  "I could never sell Momma an' Daddy's place.  But I wonder why that Mr. McCanne is so insistent."

The older sister shrugged.  "I don't know.  Maybe he just likes the area.  We have some of the best land around."

"Well, I wish he'd just move on," Birdie added.  "Go away an' leave us alone."

Dr. Stokely stood to his feet.  "If you all will excuse me," he said, "I'm going to go check on Mr. Charles.  That cough of his bothers me.  He's not exactly a spring chicken anymore, you know."

"You'll be back?" Betty asked.  The doctor nodded.  She smiled and began packing her leftovers in her basket.

"When are ya gonna start on that new corral?" Bobby asked Red.

"Tomorrow, I think," Red replied.  "You gonna be able to give me a hand or do ya got other things ta do?"  Red nodded toward Betty.

"Naw, I don't got no plans," Bobby said.  "I'll be there bright an' early for ya."  Red nodded.

Betty struggled to get to her feet, her full-skirted Sunday dress making the feat difficult.  Bobby stood quickly and reached out his hand to help her.  "Thank you," she said, and smiled sweetly.

Bobby glanced to the right.  "Her comes that Mr. McCanne," he informed the group.  Melinda's stomach tightened, and she moved closer to her sister, hoping for Red's help throughout the coming conversation with the outsider.  But Mr. McCanne did not mention purchasing her land or anyone else's.  He was cordial and talked on other things.  Melinda scolded herself for feeling ill toward him.  He wasn't so bad after all, she decided.

McCanne walked away, and Red told Bobby that he missed Joey's song in church.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," Bobby replied.  "I bet it was right good.  I've heard him singin' around the corrals.  Has a great voice."

"He sure didn't get it from me," Melinda said.  "And John wasn't a singer either.  He got it from Momma, I'd say.  Like Birdie."

"He may have not got his singin' ability from you," Red said, "but he got your smarts.  That's fer sure.  Yesterday he informed me that cows an' pigs are mammals, snakes are reptiles, chickens are birds, and that most birds could fly because their bones are hollow.  Hollow bones make birds light weight."  He chuckled.  "Oh, an' chickens can't fly because their wings aren't big enough."  I felt like I was in school again, an' he was the schoolmaster."  They all laughed.

"So you really can't sing?" Bobby asked Melinda playfully.

Everyone laughed again.

Melinda set to work on Shalene's wedding gown.  She knew she needed to sew on it as much as possible while Joey was having his nap and there were no dirty fingers reaching for the shiny white fabric.  Her small frame bent intently over the yards of satin and lace.  Her fingers were sore, but she worked on, despite the pain.  She was tacking an appliqué to the bodice when a knock came at the door.  She draped the dress neatly over her sewing table and hurried to answer the call.

Mr. McCanne tipped his hat.  "Good afternoon," he smiled at her.

"Hello, Mr. McCanne," she said.  "What can I do for you today?"  She was hoping he had not come to ask her again to sell her land.

"I was just in the area," he said, "and I thought I'd stop by and see how you are.  It was so good talking with you at the picnic on Sunday."

"I'm doing quite well," she said.  "And yourself?"

"Marvelous," he chuckled.  She noticed the slightest Irish or Scottish accent in his voice.  She had not heard it in their earlier conversations.  "May I come in?" he asked.

"Oh, forgive me for my manners," she said.  "Of course you may come in."

He looked around the room.  "Nice house you have here.  Do you know who built it?"

"My husband."

Mr. McCanne looked shocked.  "Oh, I'm sorry.  I did not know you were married.  I was under the impression that you lived alone.  Forgive me for bothering the lady of the house when I should have been speaking with your husband in the matter of purchasing this land."

Melinda's shoulders stiffened.  "My husband…"  She spoke slowly, annunciating each syllable.  "My husband is deceased.  However, if he were alive, he would not sale our land either."

"That's quite understandable, Miss Warren," McCanne assured her.  "And I did not come here today to discuss _that_ with _anyone_."

She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply.  Then she relaxed.  She opened her eyes and asked, "Would you like a cup of coffee?  Or tea perhaps?"

"No, no," he said, holding up a hand.  "But thank you for the offer.  I must be on my way.  I do, however, have one favor to ask.  That is the reason I came by."

"And what would that be?"  She smoothed a strand of hair away from her face.

"I was wondering if you would be so gracious to allow me to call upon you."

Now it was her turn to be surprised.  "Call upon me?" she repeated.

"Yes, ma'am.  I think you will find we have much in common.  Though I am European by birth, I have lived most of my life in America.  My mother was a nurse in a Boston hospital.  I know that you are a nurse as well."  He twisted his mustache.  "And I, like you, lost my companion at a very young age.  My wife died just a month after we were wed.  A train accident.  You see, my profession took me on the road a lot.  Nonna died on a train when she was coming to visit me in New York."  He stopped his explanation and cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry to hear about your wife," Melinda said sympathetically.  "And I'm sure we _do_ have much in common.  But I…"  She paused when she suddenly recalled her conversation with Birdie.  _You turn down every man who asks to call_, she thought.  She sighed.  "Okay," she muttered.

"Okay?" McCanne asked.

"Okay, I accept your proposal.  You may come calling."

"Splendid!" McCanne chirped.  "When is a good time for you?"

"Anytime."  She almost choked on the word.

"Great.  I will stop in tomorrow evening, then.  Say, around seven?"

"Fine," Melinda whispered.  "I'll make us dinner."

"I will see you tomorrow."  He opened the door and stepped outside.

"Tomorrow," she repeated, and closed the door.

She leaned against the wall for many minutes.  She was weak at the knees and almost dizzy.  "What have you done?" she asked herself.  "What have you done?'

She slowly walked across the room and settled herself back into the chair at her sewing desk.  She pushed the needle through the lace and satin.  Another knock came at the door.  She breathed in deeply.  "What does he want now?" she mumbled.  "Couldn't even wait until tomorrow?"  She stood and went to open the door once more.

"Mr. McCa…" she began.  But when she looked up, she was surprised to see her brother-in-law standing on the wooden porch.

"Melinda," he panted.  He stooped over and placed his hands on his knees in an attempt to catch his breath.

Melinda rushed to his side.  "What is it, Red?  What's wrong?"  She tossed her long, brown hair over her shoulder.

"It's Birdie."  He stood to his full height.  "Somethin' dreadful's wrong with her, an' Doc Stokely's out on a call.  Can't find him nowhere."

"Okay, I'm coming.  But I've got to get Joey.  He's having his nap."

Red rushed passed her.  "I'll get 'im.  You take my horse an' go see what you can do fer Birdie.  I'll saddle one of your horses an' bring Joey with _me_."

Red hadn't even finished his sentence before Melinda was atop his mount.  She flicked her heels against the stallion's ribs, and he jumped to a gallop.  She pushed him hard, but the ride still took a good fifteen minutes, even with cutting through the fields.

She bounded from the horse to her sister's porch and forced open the door.  The entryway smelled strongly of oil, and she noticed a broken lamp in the living room floor.  Birdie was lying on the divan a few feet away.  Her face was flushed, and though she was asleep, she clutched her throat.  Melinda placed her hand on the younger woman's forehead and then on her cheeks.  Then she reached for her hands.

"Extremely high fever," she whispered to herself.  She nudged her sister's shoulder.  "Birdie.  Birdie, can you hear me?"  Birdie wiggled and moaned in her sleep.  "Honey, wake up," Melinda said.  "Wake up.  It's Melinda."

Birdie opened her eyes.  "Melinda?"  Her hands tightened about her neck.  "My throat.  An' my head…  an' I'm so cold."

"What happened?" the older sister prompted, thinking the broken lamp was connected to the sore throat.

 Birdie coughed and winced in pain.  "I don't know," she choked forth.  "I woke up this mornin' with a headache and sore throat.  An' then when I was cleanin', I guess I must've passed out."  She shuddered and then closed her eyes.  She was once again unconscious.

Melinda bent over the broken lamp and inhaled.  It smelled like regular lamp oil.  Those fumes weren't toxic.  _And fumes wouldn't cause a fever, anyway_, she thought.

"She said she woke up with a headache and sore throat," she whispered.  "High fever, headache, sore throat…"  She picked up the broken pieces of the lamp and carried them to the kitchen to discard them.  She washed her hands and poured more water into the basin to bathe Birdie with cool wet cloths.

As she pressed the rags on her sister's forehead, she thought about the possibilities.  _Could be a cold.  But she most likely wouldn't have passed out from that.  Influenza maybe?  I haven't heard of any flu cases in town recently.  Let's see—when Betty's boy had scarlet fever a few weeks ago, he…_  She paused and returned the washcloth to the basin.

She gently shook Birdie's shoulders once again.  "Wake up, honey.  Birdie, please wake up.  Birdie, were you around Chad Hoffines when he was sick a couple of weeks ago?"

Birdie squinted, and a short, raspy breath escaped her lips.  "Yes, I took him some cookies.  Why?"

Melinda touched her sister's chin with her fingertips.  "Open your mouth."

Birdie opened her mouth, revealing a pink-coated tongue.  "I'm sorry," she mumbled.  "I can't stay awake.  I'm too…"

"It's okay," Melinda said softly.  "You go on back to sleep."  She heard footsteps on the porch, and the door swung open.  Red was carrying little Joey.  "Wait!" she shouted.  "Stay outside."

Red stopped mid-stride and backed out the door.  Melinda followed him to the wooden steps.  Red lowered Joey to the ground.  "Is she okay?" he asked.

"Well," Melinda began hesitantly.  "I think she may have scarlet fever.  She was exposed to it when the Hoffines boy had it.  I haven't yet checked her for the rash.  Have you ever had scarlet fever, Red?"

Red nodded slowly.  "I think so.  Pretty sure I had it when I was a kid."

"Good.  You can help me nurse her some, then."  She turned to her son.  "Little mister, how would you like to go spend a week or so with Pastor Smith and his grandkids?"

Joey shrugged.  "That'd be okay, I guess.  But what about Aunt Birdie?  Is she gonna be okay?"

Melinda looked at Red and then back to the boy.  "She'll be fine.  We'll have her better in no time."  She smiled.  "Red, would you mind taking him over to the Pastor's house and tell Lyla what's going on?"

Red nodded almost dumbly and lifted the boy into his arms again.  "An' I'll find the doc," he said.  "He's gotta be around here somewhere."  He untied one of the horses and turned back to her.  "Melinda?"

Melinda looked at him through the doorway.  "Yes, Red."

"Have you had scarlet fever before?"

Her eyes drifted from Red's face to the small, round face of her son.  "No," she said.  "I haven't ever had it."

"Oh, Melinda, then I can't let you…"

"I'll be fine, Red."  She looked at him again.  "I might as well stay.  I _want _to stay.  And I've already been exposed anyway."

Red opened his mouth to protest, but Melinda raised her hand to stop him.  Then she disappeared into the house.  He sighed, helped Joey up into the saddle, and then pulled himself up behind him.

Melinda retrieved some fresh water from the kitchen pump and continued to bathe Birdie's hot skin as she waited for the coffee to boil.  She hoped Red would return soon with the doctor.  She could not recall what medications and treatments would help heal the deadly fever.

Red _did_ locate the doctor who confirmed the diagnosis Melinda had already given.  He instructed her to continue bathing Birdie with the cool water and gave her some sage leaves with which to make some tea to give to the patient.  He really didn't know what else could be done.  They would simply have to wait out the sickness.  And Melinda also knew that they would have to wait to see whether or not _she _would contract the fever.

"Has anyone else been around here lately?" Doctor Stokely asked.  "Perhaps yesterday or the day before?"

Red thought for a moment.  "I think the only one was Bobby.  He's been here every day this week."

"Bobby Lester?" the doctor questioned.

Red nodded.

"And where is he now?  Do you know?"

"He took some hogs to Huntsville for me.  Should be back tomorrow."

The doctor nodded.  "Let him know what's going on.  But if he's not had scarlet fever in the past, don't let him around Miss Birdie again."  He turned to Melinda.  "And if _you_ so much as have a dull headache or scratchy throat, you stay here and send for me.  Do_ not_ come to my office.  Understand?"

She nodded and continued her vigil with the cloth and water basin.

"And make sure you get proper rest and eat well," he added.  "Red can help you with the doctoring.  We want you to avoid getting sick if at all possible."  With that, he was gone.


	3. Leanna

In his eagerness to get home, Bobby Lester traveled through the night with the now empty stock wagon.  He was hungry, but he did not even stop to eat.  His only desire was to be back in the small town of Point Blank.

"Stay awake," he told himself. "Just a few more miles, and you'll be home."

He rubbed his tired eyes with a strong hand.  His body rocked with the bumps of the dirt road.  He listened to the creaking of the wheels.  That sound reminded him of his father.  His pa had made wagons for a living.  As a child, Bobby would go with his father to take the vehicles on their very first test drive.  _The wheels always creaked on the first ride_, he thought.  _Then, when we got back to the shop, Pa would grease 'em just right 'til they didn't squeak no more_.  _He was a real talented man._

_If only we hadn't come west._  His mother and father had decided to move west to find land, expand their horizons, pursue new opportunities.  All their dreams came to an abrupt stop when their wagon caught fire one night on the trail.  His father had sacrificed himself to save Bobby and his mother.  His pa died before help arrived.  His ma was burnt pretty badly, and she died a few days later when infection invaded the sores on her skin.

Bobby was raised by a local farmer who more than willingly took him in.  The man had had no children of his own, and his Cherokee wife had been taken by a bullet from the gun of a white man.   The farmer taught Bobby about plants, animals, and the ways of the red man.  Bobby became friends with the local Indians, and he fell in love with a young squaw.  However, the girl was promised to the chief's son.  He knew he could challenge the young man, and the winner would be given the girl.  But Running Deer was his friend, and he could not challenge his friend.  Instead, he left home and headed further west.  He thought that maybe he could finish the dream his parents had started.

Bobby nodded off, but woke quickly with the jolting of the wagon.  He yawned and focused his attention back on the dark road.  Some time in the wee hours of the morning, he directed the horses toward the O'Brien's barn.  He unhitched the team, leaving the wagon in its proper place, and then saddled his own horse.  He rubbed at his sore shoulder muscles.

Inside his room of the boardinghouse, Bobby sat down in the chair to remove his boots.  The soft cushions were so much more comfortable than the hard bench of the wagon.  He relaxed momentarily.  Slowly his eyes closed, and he fell asleep sitting up—with his boots on.

He awoke to the smell of coffee.  Coffee?  Who was making coffee?  And how?  There was no stove in his small boardinghouse room.  He slowly opened his eyes.  He expected to see the brown dresser that held his clothes.  He expected to see the water bowl and pitcher.  He expected to see his cowboy hat hanging on the coat tree.  His eyes scanned his surroundings.  They were not there.  No, that was not it.  _He _was not there.  He was not in his room.  Where was he?  The decorative walls looked familiar.  The large mahogany table looked familiar.  The china cabinet filled with expensive dishes looked familiar.

A voice hummed and sang somewhere in another room.  Bobby listened intently.  He knew that voice.  He knew that song.  

"LeAnna?" he whispered.  He stood and walked softly through the doorway.  "LeAnna!"

A petite young lady turned from the stove.  "Yes, Robert, what is it?"

Bobby stared at her and then glanced about the kitchen.  "I… you… I don't…"  He breathed in deeply.  "Where am I?"

LeAnna chuckled and returned to cooking.  "What do you mean—where are you?  You're in the kitchen.  Did you have a good nap?"

He nodded slowly.

"Would you like some coffee?"

He nodded again and sat down at the table.  LeAnna poured him a cup of coffee and placed it in front of him.  Then she gave him two madeline cookies.

"After your snack," she said, "go upstairs and wash up.  Father will be home from town soon, and I want you to be presentable.  It just wouldn't do for you to be all sleepy-eyed and your hair all a mess."  She clapped her hands together.  "Oh, I can't wait for you two to finally meet.  I'm so tired of going behind Father's back.  If I had thought for one moment he would be civil toward you before now, I would have had you over for dinner weeks ago."

She sat down next to him.  "I just couldn't believe my ears when he told me last night that it didn't matter if I married into society.  I surely hope it wasn't just the liquor talking."

Bobby looked up from his coffee and ran a hand over his face.

LeAnna held up her hand.  "Not that there's anything wrong with you not being a socialite.  It's just that Daddy never took too kindly to cowmen."  She sighed.  "Are you finished with your snack?  Go on upstairs and freshen up."

He dragged himself up the tall staircase.  His head throbbed, and he was slightly dizzy.  He splashed some water on his face.  It was ice cold.  He poured water from the pitcher into his hand to drink, and lifted his fingers to his lips.  It burned his throat.  He coughed and swallowed hard.  He sat down on the canopied bed.  He was exhausted, but he could not remember what he had done that day.  He could not remember why he was so tired.

He thought about LeAnna.  She was so sweet.  Well, usually, anyway.  She could be a little pushy at times, but Bobby chalked that up to her more than comfortable way of life.  She was used to getting her way.  And she used her intelligence to _get_ her way.  She could talk anyone into anything.  Bobby figured she could connive a turtle into giving her its shell.

And she was so beautiful, more beautiful than any girl he had met before.  He pictured her blond hair shimmering in the sunlight as they picnicked by the pond.  He wondered why she wasn't married.  He knew men looked after her with adoration.  He'd seen it in their eyes.  Any man would be more than lucky to have her.  He was surprised someone hadn't asked for her hand long ago.  She was nineteen, five years younger than himself, but really an old maid by area standards.  Most girls around town were married by sixteen, just as soon as they finished their schooling, or earlier if they or their pas thought it necessary.

"Robert!" he heard LeAnna call.  "Robert, Daddy is coming down the walk.  Come on down here."

Bobby wiped his face on his sleeve and headed back down the steps.  He stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

LeAnna was talking to her father.   "I gave Samson and Callie the day off, and _I_ cooked dinner for you.  I made that soup you like—the Mexican one, um, tortilla soup—and also those cookies you like so much.  And I thought we could use Momma's good china.  It's so pretty, and we haven't used it since she passed away.  It reminds me of her—the beautiful roses, the creamy white finish."

Her father grunted his reply.

"We have a dinner guest this evening, too.  I hope you don't mind."  She motioned toward Bobby.  "Robert, come and join us."

Bobby shuffled toward them.  He seemed so tired.  He could hardly move his feet.  He raised his head and glanced toward Mr. Bledsoe.  Both he and LeAnna watched her father's face intently.  How would he react to Bobby's presence?

"G-good evenin', Mr. Bledsoe," Bobby all but whispered.

LeAnna's father looked at him coldly and then sat down at the large dining table.  "You sellin' somethin'?"  His deep voice pierced the air.

"N-no, sir," the young man replied.

"Lookin' for work?" Mr. Bledsoe growled.

"No, sir."

Mr. Bledsoe cursed and jerked up his head.  "Then why are you here?"

"Daddy," LeAnna said softly.  "Robert has come to ask your permission to call on me."

He tore apart his bread and darted his daughter a firey look.  "Can't he speak for himself?'

"Mr. Bledsoe," Bobby began.  "Sir, I would like to ask fer yer blessin' on me courtin' LeAnna."

"And what makes you think you're special enough to court my little girl?"

"W-well, I'm a hard worker," Bobby said, "and I believe I would make her a good husband."  He looked at LeAnna, and she smiled at him.

"You believe that, do you?"  Mr. Bledsoe loosened his necktie.  "And what exactly is it that you work so hard at?  You help with your family's plantation?  Do the books?  What?"

"Um, no, sir.  I have no family.  I'm a cattleman.  I'm currently workin' for Senor Jesus de la Pena just east of town."

"You got money?"

"I have a little.  But if you mean, am I wealthy—no I'm not wealthy."

"Well, then, Robert, I don't really see you being able to make my little girl as good of a husband as you think."

"But, Daddy," LeAnna whined, "last night you said…"

Mr. Bleddsoe's voice boomed.  "Last night I was drunk."

"I plan to buy my own piece of land real soon," Bobby explained.  "Ranchers are doin' quite well 'round here these days.  Why, Thomas Jackson's boy is thinkin' of buyin' him a couple dozen head and leavin' the cotton to the old timers."

LeAnna gasped.

"No, offense, sir," Bobby mumbled.

"Old timers, eh?" Mr. Bledsoe repeated.  "Son, I think you need to get yourself some manners and respect for your elders.  And for your information, no daughter of mine will_ ever _be trusted to the likes of you."

"But, Daddy!" LeAnna cried.

Her father shook his finger at Bobby.  "Get out of my house this instant."

The young man stood and backed toward the door.

"Don't go, Robert," the girl pleaded.  "We can work this out.  Please don't go."

"Get out!" Mr. Bledsoe shouted again.

Bobby scrambled to the front porch.  He could hear LeAnna sobbing as he rushed down the steps, but he did not stop running until he reached the road.  He had left his horse at the ranch so that Mr. Bledsoe would not see it upon arriving home.  Now, it would be a long, lonely walk back to the ranch.  Yes, he would go home now, he decided.  He would let Mr. Bledsoe cool off.  Perhaps tomorrow LeAnna's father would be a little more amicable.

He stopped to smell of a rose on the stone fence.  It was LeAnna's flower.  LeAnna Rose Bledsoe—such a beautiful name.  He ran his hand over his face and sighed.  Then he resumed his trek homeward.  He walked to the end of the lane and kicked at a pebble with the toe of his boot.

Suddenly he heard the pounding of horse hooves behind him.  He turned toward the clatter.  LeAnna brought her palomino to a halt next to him.

"Get on!" she shouted.

Bobby stared at her in disbelief.

"Get on!" she ordered again.  She pushed herself forward in the saddle.  He reached for the horn and shoved his foot in the stirrup.  "Hurry," she gasped.  "Hurry."

A gunshot sliced through the darkening evening air.  LeAnna cried out and then slumped back against Bobby's shoulder.  "Robert," she whispered.  "Robert, help me.  Please."

He lowered himself back to the ground.  He slowly pulled LeAnna from the horse.  She'd been shot in the back.  He pushed his hand firmly against the wound.

Mr. Bledsoe ran down the walkway waving a rifle.

"We need a doctor," Bobby screamed.

Mr. Bledsoe stopped mid-stride and stared wide-eyed at his daughter's crumpled form.

"A doctor!" Bobby shouted again.

One of the servants had heard the shot and ran toward the house.  "I'll run for Doc Oldham," the black man called.

Mr. Bledsoe stepped to the young couple's side.  "My baby, I shot my baby girl."  He crouched down.  "LeAnna?  LeAnna, are you okay?"  No response.  "LeAnna Rose, answer me."   He touched her arm.  She moved slightly, revealing a small stream of blood on her bottom lip.  Mr. Bledsoe shook the girl's shoulder.  "Wake up!"

LeAnna mumbled a few words, groaned, and coughed.  Then silence.

"Do something!" the father growled.

Bobby used his free hand to tenderly push the hair away from her face.  He shut his eyes and pressed his ear against her chest.  He raised his head slowly.  "She's gone," he told Mr. Bledsoe.

"Gone?  What do you mean gone?"

Bobby sucked in air.  "She's dead."

"No, you're lyin'!  She's not dead!  I wasn't even shootin' at her.  I meant to hit_ you_.  I couldn't let her run away with you."  He stood to his full height.  "This is your fault!  You did this!"

"What do you mean?  _You_ shot her, not me."  Bobby felt tears stinging his eyes.

"You killed my little girl!" the older man shrieked.  "You killed her!'

Bobby was on his feet now.  "I didn't!  I didn't do it!"   He turned and ran as fast as he could.

As he ran, he could hear Mr. Bledsoe shouting over and over, "You killed my Rose!  You killed my Rose!"

He did not stop running until he reached the ranch.  He rubbed at his neck.  His throat burned.  After he caught his breath, he quickly saddled his horse.  He talked to the stable hand as he worked.  "Tell Senor de la Pena I had to leave.  I can't stay.  They think I killed her."

The stable hand shook his head.  "No comprendo, Senor."

Bobby sighed and pulled a piece of brown paper from his saddlebag.  He scribbled a note to his boss.  "Give this to Senor de la Pena."  He handed the note to the servant.  "Senor de la Pena," he said again.  The little man nodded his understanding.

Bobby pushed his horse harder than he dared.  The stallion wouldn't be able to keep the pace for long, but he needed to put as much distance between him and town as quickly as possible.  He would travel through the night.  Surely they wouldn't pursue him until morning.  He rubbed his neck again.  His throat still burned.  And his head ached almost unbearably.

_Boom.  Boom.  Boom._

His eyes darted around the surrounding night distance.  _What was that?_

_Boom.  Boom.  Boom._

_Indian drums?  _No, there were no longer violent Indians in the area.  He listened closer.  Silence.  And then he heard it again.

Suddenly someone had him by the shoulders.  He could not see his enemy in the thick darkness.  "I didn't kill her!" he shouted.  "It wasn't me!"

"Bobby," a voice said.

"I didn't do it," he said again.

His assailant shook him once more.  "Bobby, wake up."

He opened his eyes.  Red stood over him.  Bobby looked around.  He was in his boardinghouse room once again.  Sunlight poured through the open window.

"What?  I didn't…"  He rubbed his eyes.

Red stepped backwards.  "Are you okay?"

Bobby squinted and sat up.  "Yeah.  Yeah, I'm alright."

"I knocked several times," Red said.  "You didn't answer, so I let myself in.  I noticed the stock wagon in the barn an' knew you were back from the city.  When you didn't show up at the farm this mornin', I got worried."

"I'm sorry," Bobby mumbled.  "I got home in the middle of the night.  I'm pretty tired."

"No problem," Red assured him.  "I just wanted to make sure you were alright.  Seems Birdie's got scarlet fever, an' you were exposed the other day.  How are ya feelin'?"

"Like I said—I'm real tired.  An' I don't feel real _good_, but I can't complain."

"Ya strong enough to work a little while?  Got that yearling that needs breakin'.  An' I gotta git as much done this mornin' as I can so that I can take my turn doctorin' Bridie this evenin'."

"She gonna be okay?" Bobby asked.

"Hope so," Red said.  "She's broke out real good-like.  Red all over.  Doc said that the fever shouldn't last but a week or so, an' if she gets through that alright, she should do fine."

"Where'd she get it from?" Bobby wondered aloud.

"That we know of, Betty Hoffines' boy is the only one in town who's had it so far.  Think he got it in the city when he went there with his uncle couple weeks back."

"Uh, that's not a good thing," Bobby said.

"What?"

"When I was at Betty's house puttin' in her kitchen cabinets, Chad was tellin' his momma that he didn't feel good.  I guess that's when he had the scarlet fever?"

Red breathed in deeply.  "Prob'ly so.  Maybe you oughta stay home an' rest today, then."

Bobby shook his head.  "Naw, I'll be alright.  Give me few minutes to get some breakfast, an' I'll be right over.


	4. Doctor Warren

The day passed quickly, and soon it was suppertime.  Slowly Melinda pulled the roast beef and potatoes from the oven.  She had burned herself while cooking breakfast, so she was trying to be extremely careful tonight.  She walked steadily, and reached the table without mishap, but then stubbed her toe on the table leg.  Hot liquid spilled over the top of the baking pan and on her hand.  She gasped and set down the roast quickly.  Her shoulders slumped as she patted the reddened skin with a wet tea towel.  She was tired, oh so tired.  After dinner, she'd be able to take a warm bath and get a few hours of sleep while Red would take care of Birdie.  How she longed for just a moment of rest.  

She stepped out on the porch and scanned the farmyard for the men.  "Supper's ready!" she shouted and went back inside. 

She ate a small bowl of potatoes and then resumed her nurse's post.  _Just another half hour and I can rest_, she thought.

She could hear Red and Bobby washing up in the kitchen.  They had come through the back door.  They talked between themselves.  Red's words seemed chipper enough, but Bobby's voice was low and hoarse.  She decided to refresh her water basin so that she could check in on them.

The men looked up from their meal.  "Evenin', Miss Melinda," Bobby said.  With these few words, he clasped his throat momentarily.

"You alright there, Bobby?" Red asked.

He nodded and swallowed some coffee.

"Melinda," Red addressed her, "Thought you should know that Bobby was at Betty Hoffines' house when her boy was sick.  Maybe you should check 'im out an' make sure he ain't comin' down with the fever too."

Bobby held up a hand.  "I'm fine.  Just tired.  Tired an' sore from the long ride to the city.   An' I didn't sleep real good last night.  But I'm fine.  Really."

Melinda stopped pumping the water and walked to the table.  She reached out and touched Bobby's face.  "You're quite warm," she said.

"Just sunburned," he insisted.

"I saw you rub your throat a minute ago," she told him.  "Does it hurt?"

"Maybe a little.  But it's nothin'."

"Do you have a headache?"

He looked at Red and then back at her.  He nodded slowly.  "But really—I'm okay."

"I don't think so," she said.  "You're staying here tonight."

He sat his coffee cup on the table.  "There's no need for me to…"

Red stopped him.  "I think you should do what she says, Bobby.  She's had some schoolin' on that medical stuff.  She knows what she's talkin' about."

"I wouldn't' want to trouble ya," Bobby added.

"No trouble," Melinda said matter-of-factly.  "I'd never forgive myself if you went home sick and had no one to take care of you."

"All I need is a little sleep," he stated.

"Then you can sleep here," Red said.  "I'm sure she'll let ya go home tomorrow iffen you really do get better."

Melinda touched Bobby's shoulder.  "After dinner, go upstairs, and Red will bring you some hot water for a bath.  That'll help you feel a little better.  I'll make you some cookies. I'm going to wash down Birdie once more and then I'll get the dishes."  She picked up the full basin and left the room.

Bobby watched her go and gently rubbed his shoulder where she had touched him.  "She's some kind of woman, ain't she?" he asked.

"Yep," Red agreed.  "Her an' Birdie—they don't come much better than those two."

Melinda sat the plate of warm sugar cookies on the table.  The sweet milk jug was empty, but there was plenty of buttermilk.

"Tomorrow's Birdie's birthday," she told Red who was mending a harness in his few free minutes between Birdie's sponge baths.  "I guess there's no need to have a big shin-dig."

"No," he replied.  "We'll do somethin' for her after she gets better."

"Okay," she agreed.  "I got a new sour cream pound cake recipe from Sister Lyla that I'm dying to try."  She filled the dish pan with hot water from the kettle.

"I found out a little information yesterday wile I's in town that I thought you might find interestin'," Red told her.

"What's that?" she asked.

"Seems this area's rich in crude oil.  Your land, as well as mine and Quinton Jessler's, are right in the heart of it.  An' that, my dear, is why that Sloan McCanne is after it.  Why, I wouldn't be surprised if he tried most anything to get his hands on it.  Turn 'im down flat iffen he asks to call on ya.  Marriage would be a good way for him to get a hold of yer property."

Melinda bit her lip and continued washing the dishes.  _Oh, well, _she thought.  _I'll be here for the next week or more.  Mr. McCanne cannot call if I'm not at home._

She looked up when she heard the ceiling pop.  Bobby slowly descended the staircase and entered the kitchen.  She watched him walk to the table.  "Make sure you stay out of the living room," she warned him.  "If you haven't already contracted the fever, you need to stay away from Birdie so that you _don't_.

He nodded and poured himself some milk.

"Do you want coffee?" she asked him.

"No thanks."

She dried her hands and walked to his side.  "How's your throat?"

"'Bout the same."

"And your head?"

"Not real good."

"Stick out your tongue," she said.

"What?"  Bobby looked confused.

"Most times when you have scarlet fever," she explained, "your tongue turns this distinct color of pink with large red sores.  They sometimes call it strawberry tongue."  She reached for his chin.  "So open up."

His face's red tone deepened as he slowly opened his mouth.  He stuck out his tongue.

She removed her fingers from his face.  "Okay, you can have it back now," she chuckled.

"Well?" Red prompted.

She shrugged.  "Can't really tell.  I'll take another look in the morning.  Now if you will both excuse me, I think I will retire for a few hours."

"Fine with me," Red assured her.  "You deserve it."

"Cold water baths every half hour," she reminded him.

"Got it."  Red watched Melinda go and then refreshed his coffee cup.  "She's been a life saver," he told Bobby.

Quietness filled the room.  Bobby pushed at some cookie crumbs with his index finger and then rubbed his throat.  He was thinking about Melinda—her hand on his shoulder, her soft fingertips against his chin.  He shook his head.  No need to be thinking about a woman.  His involvement with a woman nearly ruined his life.

Red finished off his coffee and then broke the silence.  "I've been meanin' to ask you about somethin' all day."

"What's that?" Bobby muttered.

"When I was in yer room this mornin', you were talkin' in yer sleep.  You said that you—didn't kill 'er—I think were your words.  You mind tellin' me what that was all about?"

Bobby shut his eyes momentarily.  When he opened them, he said, "It's a long, painful story that I really don't like to talk it about."

"I'm sure it is," Red said, "but considerin' you're workin' here for me an' are around my wife an' family all day—it sounds like that it may be somethin' I need to hear.  Those weren't exactly words you hear every day.  Who did you not kill?"

Bobby sighed and fingered his milk glass.  "'Bout nine months ago, I ran into a girl in the town where I was stayin' at in the east part of the state.  We talked awhile an' she invited me home for lunch.  Her father owned a plantation, and of course, was a wealthy man.

"We started seein' each other pretty regular-like, but it was always when her pa wasn't around.  Then one night she decided to have me over for dinner to meet him.  We were both tired of goin' behind his back.

"Since I wasn't rich, he didn't like me one bit, an' he kicked me outa the house before I could even finish my soup.  As I was walkin' home, here came my girl on 'er horse.  Appeared she had her heart set on me an' wanted to run away together.  Course, Daddy didn't like _that_ neither.  He took a shot at me but missed an' got her instead.  Shot her in the back.  She only lasted a few minutes.

"The old man wasn't thinkin' right an' started shoutin' that it was my fault—that I was the one that killed her."  He shrugged.  "I was scared, so I took off runnin'.  Went an' got my horse an' headed west.  I couldn't go back.  Who would believe a poor stranger over a wealthy land owner with an established name?"

"So yer a wanted man?" Red asked.

"Prob'ly."  Bobby rubbed at his temples.

"I know yer tired," Red said.  "You go on up to the spare bedroom an' git some rest.  We'll talk more about this later."

He nodded and squinted against the lamplight.

Melinda couldn't sleep, so she tiptoed back downstairs.  She expected to find Red asleep, but, instead, he was talking to someone.  Then she heard a very weak and quiet, but so familiar voice.   Birdie was awake.  Melinda stopped at the doorway to the living room and cleared her throat.  Red looked up at her.

"Is everything alright?" she asked.

"Great," he replied.  "Birdie's gonna cook breakfast in the mornin'."  He smiled.

Birdie laughed and coughed at the same time.  "How 'bout boiled eggs?  Pretty simple.  Maybe I could handle that."

Melinda walked to her sister's side and felt the young woman's forehead and cheeks.  "You've still got a fever, but not as bad as it was," she informed them.  "I don't blame Red for not wanting me to cook anymore.  You've always been a better cook than me.  But you're not getting up off this divan until that fever's gone completely."

"Yes, Dr. Warren."  Birdie grinned slightly, and then closed her eyes tightly.

Melinda smiled back at her.  "And Dr. Warren needs nurse O'Brien to continue with the cold sponge baths 'til the fever's gone.  It will still be another few days to a week until you get over this."  She studied her sister's face.  "The light hurts your eyes, doesn't it?" she asked.  Birdie nodded.  "That's a common problem while you have the fever, though most victims are too sick to notice.  You are blessed to be doing as well as you are."  She picked up the basin.  "Here, I'll go get more water, Red, while you go up and check on Bobby.  I think he felt worse last evening than he wanted us to know."

With the knowledge that Bobby seemed to be doing fine and that Birdie was slightly better, Melinda returned to bed.  She had hoped to fall asleep quickly.  She was tired and needed to rest.  But she lay there awake for many long moments watching the shadows of the twisting tree branches in the light of the full moon play about the room.

She smiled as she thought of Joey.  He would try to catch the shadows that danced in the moonbeams.  And he sometimes jumped and tried to reach the sun.  He once gave her a jar of "sunlight" for her birthday.  It was really just honey, but he insisted that it looked like liquid sunlight.  And he was right.  She smiled again.  John had been the same way.  He gave her a box of "moon dust" on their wedding night.  It was really sequins and beads that he promised he would help sew on an evening gown for her.  And in the middle of the box was a "star"—a diamond pendant.

She closed her eyes and clutched her necklace.  She listened intently.  The world was quiet—and peaceful—the way John loved it.  _We never sewed that evening gown_, she thought.  _I should get those beads out and do something with them_.  The wind made a slight whistling sound as it blew through the rafters.  She could also hear the frogs croaking on the nearby pond.  An owl hooted in the distance.  Oh, the beautiful sounds of summer.

She opened her eyes.  _What was that? _she wondered.  _A man's voice?_  It was muffled and quiet, but it was definitely someone talking.  She sat up and strained to hear it.  It wasn't Red's voice, she decided.  She stood and stepped to the open window.  The warm breeze blew about her.  She heard the man again, but he was not outside.  He was _inside _the house_._  It was Bobby.

She shuffled down the hallway and rapped at the door of the spare bedroom.  Bobby said something that she couldn't make out.  She knocked again.

"Get the doctor!" he shouted.

She pushed open the door and hurried to his side.  "The doctor?" she asked.  "Here, I'll help you.  What's wrong?"

"She's hurt.  We need the doctor," he said.  His eyes were closed.

"Are you awake?" she asked him.

"She's shot in the back," he mumbled.

"Bobby, wake up."

"No!  No!  Not me!  I didn't kill her!"  He turned over and pushed at Melinda.

She clasped his waving hand.  "Bobby, wake up!" she shouted again.

"I didn't…"  He opened his eyes.  "LeAnna?"

"No, it's Melinda."

"Melinda?"  He sat up.  "Oh, Melinda.  Is somethin' wrong?"

"I was about to ask you the same question.  Nothing's wrong with me.  But are you okay?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"You were talking, well, shouting, really, in your sleep.  You asked for a doctor, so I came to help."

"Oh."  The one word was raspy and drawn out.  It sounded more like a breath of air than a word.  He shut his eyes and started to rub his throat, but he checked himself and lowered his hand.

"You're in pain," Melinda said.  She pressed her palm against his forehead.  "And you have a high fever.  I'm going to go downstairs and fill another basin with water.  And you'll need some sage tea also."  She darted through the door before Bobby could object.

The night seemed to last forever.  Between the coldwater baths, Melinda tried to get some sleep, but it just wasn't possible.  She would doze for a few minutes but then awake quickly.  A long night.  And tomorrow would be an even longer day.

Bobby drifted in and out of a restless sleep.  His dreams were filled with visions of LeAnna.  At first she would be in front of him, and then she would disappear.  Or many times she would die in his arms.  Then, every time, came the thunderstorm.  The sky grew dark, and it began to rain.  He would run as fast as he could as the lightning flashed about him.  It rained harder and harder.  Then the water became deep, a flood.  He tried to swim, but the force of the water was too great.  He was drowning, choking.  His throat burned as he breathed the water.  And then he would wake up.  Over and over again he would dream, never getting any peace.

Two days later, Birdie's fever broke.  Melinda thought that her younger sister would recover quickly from the sickness since she had fought the fever so well.  But she was terribly weak, weaker than expected.  It would be many days before she would be able to take care of herself.  Melinda knew that ear aches, cold in the eyes, nose, and throat, or pneumonia many times followed scarlet fever.  Perhaps Birdie was inflicted with one of those illnesses.  Red helped her as much as his work on the farm allowed, but Melinda was stuck with most of the nursing.  Not that she minded, really.  She loved her sister, and she loved taking care of people.  She was just so tired.  Many days she felt as if she didn't know whether she was coming or going

Melinda sat on the edge of Bobby's bed, patting a cool, wet cloth on his face.  He had had the fever three days now.  _Just awhile longer_, she thought.  _He should come through it in another couple of days.  Then he'll be on the road to recovery._

But she wondered how much longer she would have to nurse her sister.  Birdie's fever had broken two days ago, but she seemed to be getting worse instead of better.  Her new symptoms, however, included vomiting and abdominal cramps, and neither was related to scarlet fever, a cold, or pneumonia.  Melinda's guess was that Red must have brought some new sickness home with him from town.

_I hope we all don't get that too,_ she thought.

She focused her attention back on Bobby's reddened face.  She ran her fingers through his hair and pushed it away from his forehead.  She smiled.  He_ was _quite handsome, even with a rose-colored face and messed up hair.  And Joey liked him so much.

She sighed.  She missed her little Joey.  It seemed like forever since she had seen him.  It had been over a week.  _Tomorrow is Sunday, _she mentally noted_._  She sighed.  She would have to miss church again.  Bobby tossed his head in his sleep.  "LeAnna," he mumbled and then was still again.

_I wonder who this LeAnna is_, Melinda continued her mental conversation with herself.  _He's probably said her name a dozen times in the past few days._

She scanned the small town of Point Blank in her mind's eye.  She knew of no one named LeAnna.  Perhaps she was in another town close-by.  She would have to ask Red, she decided.  If Bobby had a girl he was courting, the young lady would surely want to know of his condition.

Sunday dawned cloudy but warm and balmy.  Melinda seemed to perspire with every slight movement.  _It's going to be another long day,_ she told herself.

As she helped Red prepare some luncheon sandwiches, she asked him about Bobby's friend.  "Red," she said as she sliced the bread.  "Who's LeAnna?"

"LeAnna?" he repeated.  "I don't know.  LeAnna who?  Is it someone from town?"

"I don't think so," she said.  "Bobby keeps calling for someone named LeAnna."

"Oh," Red grunted.

Melinda stopped the perpetual motion of her hand, the knife against the cutting board.  "I don't like the sound of that," she said.  "What's wrong?  Is Bobby in some kind of trouble?"

"You could say that."

"What is it?"

"He's wanted for murder."  
She dropped the knife on the table and looked up at him.  "You're kidding, right?"

"Nope."

"Care to share the details?  I'm not liking this at all."

Red slapped a piece of ham on a slice of bread and sighed deeply.  "He told me that he met a girl named LeAnna somewhere back east.  Her daddy didn't like him none and ran him off one day.  Apparently LeAnna decided she loved Bobby more than her pa, and she took off to run away with him.  Sounded like it was totally her idea—that Bobby didn't know anything about it.  Her pa took aim at Bobby but shot the girl instead.  An' then he told everyone that Bobby did the shootin'.  He's been runnin' ever since."

"Do you believe him?" Melinda wondered.

Now Red looked surprised.  "Course I believe him.  I have no reason not to.  He's a good Christian man.  Nothin' but honest an' hard-workin'."

"That's true," she said.  "But it's still scary.  Even if he_ isn't_ a murderer, the _law _might eventually come out here and throw a few bullets.  Could be dangerous."

"I'll talk to him more about it after he gets well," Red told her.  "We'll make some decisions on what to do 'bout the situation then."

Bobby's fever broke some time in the middle of the night.  He stayed awake more now and told Melinda he was ready to get back on his feet.  But she wouldn't yet let him out of bed. 

"A couple more days," she told him.   "You need to regain your strength first."

What could he do but nod his head in agreement?  She was the medical expert.  So he reluctantly stayed in bed.

Birdie finally stopped having the abdominal cramps, but the vomiting continued.  And she was still extremely weak.  Neither Dr. Stokely nor Melinda could put their finger on what was wrong.


	5. The Fever

"Today?" Bobby asked when Melinda brought him his breakfast.

"Well," she hesitated.  "Are you sure you're strong enough?"

He smiled.  "I'm sure."

"And you promise you won't over do it?"

"I promise."

"Okay, then.  But take it easy."  She smiled back at him.  "Doctor's orders."

He grinned and scratched at his fingers.

"Are you uncomfortable?  I've heard the itchy dry skin is the worse part about the fever."

"It's purdy bothersome," Bobby agreed.  "Never had my skin peel off like this before."

"I'll get you some butter."

"Butter?"  He looked at his plate of food.

She smiled.  "Not for your breakfast.  For your skin," she explained.  "Rub the butter into your hand s and  feet and it will help with the itching."

"Well, don't that beat all?  You learn somethin' new ev'ryday."

She nodded and started for the door.

"Wait," Bobby said.

She turned sharply on her heels.  "What is it?"  She supposed something else was wrong.

"If you have a few minutes, I'd like you to stay an' talk with me."

She looked at him evenly, trying not to smile.

"Please," he added.

She nodded slightly.

"Sit down," he prompted and patted the edge of the bed.

She sat down.

He took a bite of the scrambled eggs, chewed, and swallowed.  "First, I would like to thank you for takin' care of me.  I don't know what I would have done without you.  I know the past week has been hard on you, an' if there's anything I can do to repay your kindness, you just let me know.

"And."  He took a drink of his coffee.  "I was wonderin' how Birdie was doin'."

"Not real good," Melinda admitted.  "And the worst part about it is that we don't know what's wrong with her.  I've got a few items to finish sewing for some townsfolk.  I'm going to run out to the house and get those done.  Then I'll deliver them and come back to stay with her until she gets better.  Oh, and I'll go get Joey too.  I was worried at first that Birdie was contagious, but she doesn't appear to be.  And I'd really like to see my baby."

"Wouldn't mind seeing the little guy myself," he said.  "You're a good lady, Miss Melinda, sacrificing' so much to help me an' yer sister."  He broke a biscuit in half.  "Red said you went to nursin' school?"

"Yes, I was right out of grammar school, just sixteen years old," she told him.  "I was a good student as a child, always studying until I knew all the material perfectly."  She smiled.  "Birdie always hated it when I corrected her English.  'Ain't is _not_ a word,' I'd tell her.  She'd run and tell Daddy I was picking on her.

"I always liked helping people too.  I'd go help nurse the kids around town when they were sick.  An' Momma got so tired of me bringing home birds with broken wings, rabbits with torn ears.  So I headed to the city one day.  Daddy knew a doctor there.  I studied for a year at a hospital in Houston.

"When I came home for a short break, Mother was quite ill.  She tried not to let her pain show.  She didn't want me to worry and then not go back to the city to finish my training.  But I knew she was sick.  I could tell.  At the end, she got so bad that she had to take to the bed.  I nursed her until she died.  I wouldn't let Daddy or Birdie help.  I considered it my duty.  I was the nurse, not them.  To this day, I don't know what was wrong with her.

"A few months later, Daddy was shoeing a horse—right out here in the corral."  She pointed toward the window.  "The feisty stallion bucked and kicked him in the head.  He was blind for weeks.  And then one morning I found him resting peacefully.  He had passed away in the night.  A cerebral hemorrhage, I figured.  I never went back to the city.  I didn't want to see any more suffering and death.  I had seen enough in my own family to last a lifetime.

"About a year later, John was sent to this area.  We met at church and ended up getting married."  She laughed.  "He told me that before he met me, he swore he'd never get married."  She breathed in deeply and stood to her feet.  She couldn't believe she had just told Bobby all of this.  "And now if you'll excuse me," she said.  "I best be going."

Bobby reached for her hand.  "Take care," he said with feeling.  He pressed his fingers against hers.

"And you take that advice, too," she warned.  "Take care, and take it easy."

He nodded and let go of her hand.  "I promise, Dr. Warren."  He watched her go.  He smiled and closed his eyes.  "Definitely some kind of woman," he whispered.

Melinda examined the sky as she rode her horse homeward.   Clouds were rolling in from the west.  She hoped the rain would stay away long enough for her to get Shanlene's dress and Mr. Moffit's curtains delivered.  It just wouldn't do to get them all soaked with rainwater.

She pushed open the back door to her house.  She spied a plate covered with brown paper on the kitchen table.  A note was tucked under the old china dish.  The first word was in Joey's awkward writing, but someone had finished the letter for him.  "Mommy," it read, "Here's you some sweets for when you get home.  Come and see me soon.   Love, Joey."

She smiled and unwrapped the plate.   She broke a cookie in half and nibbled at the edges.  Sister Lyla's specialty—pecan shortbread.

She tied on her apron and carried the kitchen bucket outside to the pump.  She needed to wash her hands and get to work on Shalene's wedding gown as soon as possible.  She had quite a bit of handwork to get finished before tomorrow morning.

After about an hour of stitching lace appliqués, her fingers were sore, and her back in even more pain.  "Time for a break," she told herself.

_Take your own advice,_ something inside her said.  _Take it easy._  And then she recalled Bobby's words.  "Take care."

_I'm trying, _she thought.  _But I've got to get this done today._

_Take it easy,_ her mind warned her again.__

She ate another pecan cookie.   She really wanted a cup of strong coffee, but that meant starting a fire.  And she didn't want to deal with that.  She sipped at some water and rubbed her neck.

"How about a walk," she decided.  "I haven't been able to stretch my legs for some time now."

The afternoon clouds were fairly thick, and the wind had picked up.  But there was no sign of rain yet.  "That's a good thing."

The wind played with her hair, tossing the long tresses about her face.  She hadn't bothered putting her hair up for over a week now.  "I must look horrible," she told a nearby blue jay.  "I'm surprised Bobby Lester could even to stand to look at me while we talked this morning."

Her heart gave a little jump.  She gasped.  That was a feeling she had not experienced in a long time—not since John, she realized.

"How could I?" she wondered aloud.  "John has only been gone a year."

_You knew this time would someday come_, she told herself.  _You even promised yourself a few weeks ago that you would let it come when it did.  But now you cannot deal with it?_

" I will not let myself have feelings for any man," she said.  "It's too soon.  And Bobby Lester is wanted by the law, anyway."

Despite her resistance to her feelings, she admitted to herself that she could use some companionship.  She had Joey, but sometimes she desired more mature conversation, deeper sentiment than a three-year-old could offer.  She visited town as much as possible in order to fulfill this need.  But she realized that no one could take the place of her late husband.  No one, even her sister, knew her as well as he had.  And no one could ever love her like he had.

She felt guilty when she accepted a man's offer to come call.  She would always cancel the engagement soon after accepting.  She knew these feelings of guilt were unfounded.  John would _want_ her to find someone else.  But she couldn't stop the unsettling twinge in her stomach.

She stopped at the fence that surrounded her half dozen apple trees.  "They are coming along nicely.  Soon we'll have apple juice, apple pie, and my favorite, apple fritters."  She spotted a white webbed mass on one of the trees.  "Oh, my.  Looks like one of them has worms.  I'll have to cut that branch off and burn it before the pests spread.  I'll do that before I go back to town."

She did not look forward to sawing the tree limb.  It would take a lot of strength, perhaps the strength of a man.  _A lot of things around here could use some work,_ she thought.  _Perhaps I should hire a man to take care of them_.

_Should you hire a man to be a father to Joey too? _a voice inside her asked.  _He needs a father._  She shook the thought away and left her post by the fence.

As she turned to head back to the house, she felt a twinge of pain in her neck.  She told herself that it was simply soreness due to her work.  But inside she knew it was something more.  She breathed in deeply.  There it was again, this time stronger and more remote.  She swallowed.  Now the pain was almost unbearable.  Her throat had never been so sore.

"Well, if I'm going to get sick," she said, "I need to go get that dress finished.  Maybe Red or Bobby could deliver it for me.  And they could pick up Joey…"  She stopped.  If she had scarlet fever, she would not be able to see her son for perhaps a week or more.

She sighed, which only brought more physical pain.  Her entire being ached—from the illness or her saddened heart, she could not tell.

As she walked toward the house, she noticed a buggy coming down the dirt drive.  The driver spotted her upon his stopping the horses, and bounded toward her.  It was Mr. McCanne.

"Miss Melinda," he called.  "Good day, Miss Melinda."

"Hello, Mr. McCanne."  Her throat burned as she talked.

"I heard you have had your hands quite full."

"Yes, yes, I have.  I'm sorry I could not make our appointment last week.  And I am sorry I did not contact you in order to cancel.  I was much to busy."

"I understand," he said.  "But if you would be so kind, may I call on you tonight?"

"Uh, I don't think that would be a good idea.  I'm much too tired.  And it's quite possible that I have contracted the scarlet fever.  I should not expose you to it."

"I see.  Perhaps at a later time when you get feeling better?"

"Perhaps."

"Then I will ride out next week sometime to see how you are faring."

"Very well."

Late in the afternoon, as she was sewing the last button on the dress, a wave of dizziness swept over her.  She closed her eyes and tried to steady her throbbing head.  She stood as quickly as she dared and folded the white gown neatly over the table.  She shivered.  It was so cold.  Cold?  Perhaps the rain had finally moved in.  No, the clouds were thick, but there was no precipitation.  She could even see the blue sky in the east.  She closed her eyes slowly against the spinning world.  She knew exactly why she was so cold.

"The fever," she whispered.  She dragged herself up the staircase and collapsed on her bed.


	6. Sickness

Bobby found that he was not as strong as he thought he was.  His break times seemed to be longer and more frequent than the hours worked.  He was thankful that Red had hired another young man to help them get caught up after their absences from the chores.  Red still had to spend many moments indoors helping Birdie.  It was difficult for her to do many of her daily activities.

Bobby left the farm weary and sore.  Surely after a good night's sleep in his own bed, he could work harder tomorrow.  Yes, tomorrow would be a better day.  And for more reasons than the one.  Tomorrow Melinda would be back—and with Joey.  They were quite a pair, those two.  He wouldn't mind spending the rest of his life with them, he surprised himself by thinking.

_Are you crazy? _he silently asked himself.  He could never ask anyone to share in a life like his.  Who knew what might come his way?  He might have to move suddenly if he suspects the law on his trail.  Or, if he is found, he could be put in jail or shot or even hanged.  No, he could never marry now.  And besides—did he _love_ Melinda?  She was a wonderful woman, but he barely knew her.

He turned the knob of the door to his boardinghouse room, closed the door behind him and lit the lamp.  He sat down on the corner of his bed and pulled off his boots.  Then he tossed his hat on the coat rack.  He was hungry but too tired to go downstairs to get something to eat.  He slipped of his trousers and slowly unbuttoned his shirt.  Even the small movement of his fingers required much effort.  He let the shirt fall on the bed, and he rubbed at his sore muscles.  A warm bath would sooth his pained body, but he had not enough strength to prepare the tub.

"Tomorrow," he told himself.  And he smiled slightly as he pictured Melinda's face.

He crawled into the bed, blew out the lamp, and shut his eyes.  He breathed in deeply, exhaled slowly, and fell asleep.

Bobby felt quite a bit better the following morning, but his entire body was still sore.  His appetite was completely restored, however.  For breakfast, he ate four eggs, six pancakes, and more slices of bacon than he cared to count.  The lady at the boardinghouse, Miss Staples, could hardly keep up.  She finally gave him his own pot of coffee so that she didn't have to make quite so many trips to the table.

"I wondered where you'd been, but the doc said you had scarlet fever," she told him as she gave him another plate of food.

He nodded.

"Where you been all the time you were sick?"

"Red O'Brien kept me up."  Bobby filled his coffee cup again.

"Heard Birdie was down too.  How'd Red take care both ya'll?"

"Melinda Warren was there the whole time."  He buttered his flapjacks.

Miss Staples bobbed her head slightly.  "Figures.  She's as smart as any doctor.  Good woman."  She smiled slightly.  "And got the cutest little boy."

"Yeah," Bobby agreed.  "They're both somethin'."

"A man like yourself would be pretty lucky to win their hearts.  Don't ya think?"

"I'd have ta say so."

"Might think on that."  She adjusted her apron.

"Right now, I better git on ta work.  Thank you fer the breakfast, ma'am."

"You're welcome."

The sky was still cloudy, and Bobby wondered if it would rain.  He hoped the weather wouldn't keep Melinda at home.  He was so looking forward to seeing her again.

He found himself watching the drive for her wagon.  By lunchtime, she still had not come.

"When did Melinda say she'd be back?" he asked Red.

Red raised an eyebrow.  "I don't know, this afternoon, maybe?  You sick again?"

"No," Bobby was quick to reply.  "Just wonderin'."

Silence fell between them.  Red grinned to himself as Bobby gazed toward the road, a smile firmly planted on his face.  Red, though he had only known Bobby a few months, realized that he had never seen Bobby smile as much as he had today.  The redheaded Irishman wasn't much for matchmaking, but maybe just this once it was a good idea.  Birdie seemed like a good matchmaker.  Perhaps she would help him get Bobby and Melinda together.

But then there was the issue if Bobby's past.  What would become of him?  Was the law looking for him?  Was LeAnna's father on his trail?  Did Bobby plan to move again soon?  What would happen if or when the law found him?  That was no kind of a life for a woman and small child.  This problem needed to be resolved before any relationship could begin.

Red broke the silence with a question.  "Have you ever thought about goin' back ta face LeAnna's father?"

Bobby jerked his head around and sighed heavily.  "Yeah, I've thought about it.  But I have no doubt that he'd kill me in a heartbeat.  I figure it'd be suicide."

"Well, maybe you should turn yerself in," Red suggested.

"Is that what you'd do?" Bobby asked.

He shrugged.  "Oh, I don't know.  Maybe."

Bobby added, "I keep tellin' myself that I'm gonna stop runnin'.  But I guess I'm not that big of a man."

"Ya think _this_ is a good place to stop runnin'?"

"I've thought about that too."  He ran his fingers through his hair.  "You know how much I'd like to stop here.  And I _have_ stayed here longer than most places.  But I just don't know."

 "I could testify to yer character.  Heck, we all could.  Miss Staples at the boardinghouse, Birdie, Melinda…"

"I'd rather leave Melinda out of it.  I don't even want her to know about it."

"She's already asked," Red told him.  "And don't you think she'd find out everything eventually anyway?  Besides, I know she'd want to help."

"I don't doubt that," Bobby said.  "She's already helped me more than I would've imagined."

"You know I couldn't let you court her if you didn't get all yer past behind ya."  Red's tone was matter-of-fact.

Bobby turned once again to face him.  "I didn't…  I wasn't…  I would never ask a woman to live the way I do."

"But you care for her.  Don't you?"

"Of course I care for her.  She practic'ly saved my life."

Red shook his head.  "You know what I mean."

Bobby lowered his eyes to the ground.  "I'd prob'ly better git back ta work.   You go on in an' check on Miss Birdie."

"You think about it," Red said as he stood to his feet.

"Fine.  I'll think about it."

He watched his employer walk to the farmhouse.  "Sure are a lot of people wantin' me ta think 'bout stuff lately," he mumbled to himself.

By dusk, Bobby was worried about Melinda.  Red assured him that she was okay.  She probably just had some extra sewing to do or some errands to run.  Bobby tried to believe him, he but could not convince himself.

As he started for home, the wind began to blow wildly, ushering in darker clouds and cooler air.  To put his mind at ease, he decided to stop by Pastor Smith's house to see if he or Lyla had heard from Melinda.

Joey was putting on his sleep shirt when Sister Smith answered the door.  The little boy obviously had just had a bath.

"Has Melinda been by?" Bobby asked.

"No," Lyla answered.  "I thought she was still at Red's taking care of Birdie and you."

Bobby shook his head.  "She went home yesterday to finish up some sewin'.  Said she would be back this mornin' after she dropped some handwork off here in town and then picked up Joey.

Joey turned toward the door.  "Hi, Mr. Lester.  Did you come to get me an' take me to my mommy?"

"No, buddy.  I just stopped by to talk to Mrs. Smith.  I'm sure yer momma will be here real soon ta git ya."

"Tell her to hurry.  'Kay?" Joey asked.

"Okay.  I will."  Then Bobby addressed Lyla again.  "Has anyone has seen her in town?"

"I don't rightly know, Bobby.  But she hasn't been _here_."

"Well, then, I best be goin'."

"You want me to send Michael out to Melinda's house to look for her?" Lyla asked.

"No," he replied, "I'm goin' out there myself right now."

"Do you think something's wrong?"

"I hope not."

Lightening flashed across the sky as he mounted his horse.  _I'd better hurry iffen I'm gonna beat this storm_, he thought.

It began to rain as Bobby turned down the narrow dirt road that lead to the Warren's house.  He had almost missed the turn.  Only the sporadic lightning gave him any light by which to see.  As far as he could tell, there were no lamps lit in the house.  This worried him even more.

He shook the rainwater from his hat and shoulders as best he could and then knocked at the front door.  He waited.  There was no answer.  He knocked again.  Once more, no response.

"Forgive me, Melinda, for bargin' in yer house," he whispered.  He slowly opened the door, not knowing what he would find.

The rooms were dark, damp, and chilly as he searched for the young lady.  _No sign of her,_ he thought, his heart sinking.  Would he find her?  Or was she out somewhere in the night, disabled and cold?  He shook his head to clear his thoughts.  Perhaps he just missed her in town.  If he did not find her in the house, he would look around outside and then head back to Red's.  Maybe she was there by now.

In the darkness, he shuffled to the staircase.  _Maybe she's upstairs._

The first room he came to on the second floor held no occupants.  In the darkness he could barely see the outline of a rocking horse.  _This must be Joey's room,_ he thought.

The next door was closed, and this room was also was empty, only a small bed set in the corner.  _Guest room?_

As he slowly and silently stepped back to the hallway, he heard a slight noise.  It was almost like a puppy's whimper.  _It came from across the hall._  _That must be where she is._

Bobby entered and fumbled around in the darkness for a lamp.  Luckily he did not have to search for matches too.  They were on the lamp table.  An orange glow encompassed him.  This third room was pretty and homey and would have been inviting if it were warmer.  He marveled at how crisp the air had become since the storm had rolled in.

Melinda lay across the bed.  She was on top of the quilt and obviously quite chilled.  Her body shook periodically.  Bobby's first job would be to get her warm.  He reached for her.  Her skin was extremely hot.  _Should I keep her cool, then? _ He recalled that _she_ had bathed _him_ in cold water when he was down with the fever.

_But surely it's not good for her to be so cold like this.  She's shakin' all over._  He sighed deeply.

"She needs a doctor," he said out loud.  Should he leave her there alone and go get help?  No, that wasn't a good idea.

He lifted her small, lifeless form into his arms.  His pulse quickened slightly.  It had been a long time since he had held a woman—under any circumstances.

After he tucked the blanket around her, he considered his options.  "Think, Bobby, think," he quietly told himself.  "You've got to remember how to doctor this fever.  There's no way to send for help tonight."

A peculiar taste came to mind.  _Some kind of liquid medicine or broth_, he thought.  He had heard her call it "tea."  Red would know.  He had helped nurse Birdie.

_If I can just get her through the night_, he decided.  Somehow he would get help in the morning.  He just had to get her through the night.  He _had _to.  If it took all his ability and strength, he would help this selfless woman survive the sickness _he_ had likely given to her.

The night seemed to creep by.  Bobby did his best taking care of the very sick Melinda.  He had made two trips to the water pump to replenish the basin every few minutes.  After hours of pressing the cold cloths against her fevered face, neck and arms, he suddenly realized that his clothes were uncomfortably damp.    But he had no other clothes to change into.

He stood to his feet and opened one of the two armoires.  Melinda was a small woman, but perhaps she had a robe big enough for him to wear until his Levis and heavy twill shirt dried.  There was one gown that looked almost large enough, but it was trimmed with lace and ribbons.  Though no one would see him, he would never feel comfortable in a garment like that.

_Maybe there's somethin' in the other closet_, he thought.  He closed one door and opened another.  He was in luck.  It was full of men's shirts.

_That's odd_.  _Red said that Melinda's husband had died over a year ago.  Why would she still have his clothes? _ Perhaps they belonged to someone else.  Had she remarried?  No, he was sure she hadn't.  She was always alone, and no one ever spoke of a current husband.

He pulled one of the shirts from the armoire and held it up to his chest.  He had no idea what size the deceased Mr. Warren had been, so therefore, he had no clue whether or not the clothes would fit him.  The shirt seemed compatible.

_Now I just need some pants.  _He yanked on the bottom drawer of the dresser.   Men's pants.  He held up a pair.  _A little long, but I think they'll do._

He stepped across the hall to the spare bedroom to change into the dry clothing.  As he slipped on the shirt, something fell from the pocket.  He buttoned the shirt and then searched the floor for the item.  No luck.  He could not find it in the near darkness.

"I'll just look for it in the mornin'," he told himself.

As he pulled on the trousers, lightening lit up the sky outside the window.  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of an object on the floor across the room near the bed.  He walked over and picked it up.  It was cold: metal, most likely.  He laid his clothes out flat on the floor and carried the small metal object to Melinda's room.  He held it out in the lamplight.  It was a badge.  The outline of an eagle shimmered in yellow glow of the lamp.  A Mexican peso.  Was it Mr. Warren's?  Had he been a Texas Ranger?  Is that how he died—on duty?

Bobby placed the badge on the night table and sighed.  Now he _knew_ he could never begin a relationship with Melinda.  She'd never allow him to call.  The wife of a deceased lawman would never consider a proposal from a fugitive.

Melinda mumbled and tossed her head in her sleep.  Her words sounded much like, "Jonathan, please."

_Jonathan,_ Bobby thought.  _Oh, yes.  That was Mr. Warren's first name._

He wanted to ask her about him, but he would never be so nosey and rude._  A year's not nearly long enough to get over a broken heart._  Or was it?  Though he often still had dreams about LeAnna, he now seldom thought of her during the day.  Sometimes he would even forget that_ he _was the one wanted for her death.  He was finally putting all of it behind him—at least mentally.

And now Red wanted him to turn himself in to the authorities.  How could he?  If it was a choice between death or a life of solitude, he would simply have to be a single man for the rest of his life.  At least then he would still _have _a life.

He went downstairs and refilled the water pitcher once again.  He still had a few hours until daylight.  He needed to continue bathing Melinda in cold water.  But what then?  He should get help, but he couldn't leave Melinda there alone and ride into town.

Back at her bedside, he gently pushed Melinda's hair away from her face and neck.  Her skin was so hot.

"I wish there was more I could do for you," he said softly.  "You're such a sweet an' pretty little thing.  I hate ta see ya suffer so."

She smiled and slowly opened her eyes.  "Oh, Jonathan!  You've made me breakfast in bed.  You're always surprising me.  I wish you didn't have to go to the city today.  We could ride down to our spot on the creek and have a picnic lunch."  She closed her eyes and whispered something about lemonade.

Bobby knew now that he needed to get help for her immediately.  She was delirious.  And while he didn't know much about medical information, he did know that high fevers that lasted extended periods of time could cause damage to the body's ability to function properly.  He had seen it in his mother.  She had lost most of her motor skills, and her speech became slurred when she was fighting the fever caused by infection.

He sighed and pressed the cool cloth against her forehead.  "Stay with me, Sweetie, just a little while longer.  Help will come real soon."  He tried to believe his words.

Bobby was sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed and was almost asleep when he heard a noise.  He rubbed his eyes and turned an ear to listen.  Someone was knocking at the door.  He scrambled to his feet and practically ran downstairs.  He landed on the bottom step rather haphazardly—almost tripping on the hem of the too-long pants.  He regained his footing and shuffled to the door.  He swung it open forcefully, and it slammed against the wall.

"Mr. Jacobs.  I'm so glad you've come," he started.  "I need…"

The man outside raised and eyebrow and cut him off.  "Well, Bobby Lester.  Sure didn't expect to see you here, 'specially this time of the mornin'."  His eyes scanned Bobby from head to toe and then upward again, stopping at his unbuttoned shirt and then at his messy hair.  "You stay here last night?"

Bobby nodded, yawned, and rubbed his eyes.  "'Scuse me.  I didn't get much sleep.  Sir, I need…"

"Is that so?" the man cut in again.  He adjusted his hat nervously.  "Say, I had no idea that you were courtin' Miss Warren."

"I'm not.  I'm just…"

"Is _that_ so?"  Jacobs cleared his throat.  "Look, it ain't none of my business why you stayed here last night an' come answerin' the door half dressed as ya are, but miss Warren is a well respected lady in town, an' if you've somehow mistreated her…"

Bobby's eyes widened, and he did not hear the rest of the man's words.  Color flashed across his face.  He was angry that Mr. Jacobs would even insinuate such a thing.

"Listen, Jacobs," Bobby said sharply, "I would _never_ _ever_ lay a hand on Miss Melinda, an' I have never done anything to _your _knowledge to suggest otherwise.  If you would stop talkin' an' listen ta me for just one minute, I could tell you why I'm here and that I need your help."

"_My_ help?" Mr. Jacobs coughed.  "I just came by to get the colt I'm buyin' from Miss Warren.  I'd really rather not get involved in such a scandalous affair."

"Jacobs!  Stop!"  Bobby surprised himself by shouting.  "I am here because Melinda is sick.  She has scarlet fever, and I need _you_ ta go to town an' git the doc for me."

"The doc?  Scarlet fever?  Oh, I didn't realize…  Okay, I'm on my way."

Bobby watched the older man scurry to his horse.  Then the young man scrambled back up the stairs almost as quickly as he had descended them.  He wanted to be back at Melinda's side.

"The doc will be here in no time," he told her.  He poured new water in the basin and laid the wet cloth on her forehead.

Dr. Stokely did not knock.  He simply proceeded upstairs to Melinda's bedroom.

"She's real bad," Bobby told him.  "She was delirious at times during the night."

"It was really nice of you to stay here with her," the doctor told him as he placed a hand on her cheek.

"It was the least I could do," Bobby said.  "She's done so much for me, an' I didn't think it was a good idea to leave her here alone."

"You're right.  And you may have even saved her life.  These cold water rags probably kept the fever from going any higher than it did."  He pulled a jar from his bag.  "I brought some of the sage leaves to make the tea.  It will help the sickness work its way through her system a lot more quickly.  Maybe then the fever will lessen some.  I'll go down and put the teapot on.  You continue with the cold compresses."

Dr. Stokely was gone for awhile and then returned with the tea.  "Will you give this to her while I prepare a few things?"

Bobby took the cup and saucer and lifted the tea to Melinda's lips.  He watched the doctor out of the corner of his eye.  "What are you doin'?"

"Filling this water bottle."  He offered no more information.

"What is it for?"  Bobby set the cup on the saucer and turned toward the doctor.

"While I was downstairs, it occurred to me that a cold water enema may reduce the temperature from the inside out."

Bobby frowned.  "You mean?"  He stopped.

Dr. Stokely simply nodded his head.  "Is all the tea gone?"

"Most of it."

"Good.  If you'll kindly take the cup back down to the kitchen and then wait out in the hallway.  I will come and get you when I finish."

The enema, in conjunction with the sage tea and the coldwater baths, seemed to do the trick.  Melinda's fever decreased slightly, but enough that the doctor believed that she was out of danger for the time being.  And she _did _seem to be resting more comfortably, Bobby thought.

However, Melinda's recovery was a slow one.  The fever lasted longer than expected.  And Dr. Stokely said he had never seen anyone with such an extensive coverage of the rash.  He stopped in twice a day to check on her and sometimes give her a thorough bath.  He could not ask Bobby to do that, and yet he knew that it must be done.

Bobby asked how Birdie was fairing.  She was better but still weak and occasionally nauseous.  She was up and around some though.  On her bad days, Red took care of her.  He had had to pay a hired boy to do a lot of the work around the farm.


	7. Recovery

Early Sunday morning, as Bobby read an old newspaper to the sleeping Melinda, she opened her eyes.  Bobby had become accustomed to her doing so, but the action was usually followed by a short incoherent phase and then the closing of her eyes again.  She had actually awakened only a few times since she took ill.  So, he kept reading, paying her no mind.

"Bobby," she whispered.

Bobby looked up from the paper.  "Melinda?"

"Keep reading please."  Her words were barely audible.

"Are you awake?"

"Yes."

He leaned closer to her.  "Oh, thank God!  You had me so worried."

"Why?"

"You had the fever."

"How's Birdie?"

"You don't need to be worryin' 'bout her.  Just rest and concentrate on gittin'_ yerself _better."

She tried to sit up.  "She's still sick.  Isn't she?  I've got to help her."

Bobby put up a hand.  "Whoa, there.  You're not goin' anywhere."

"But she needs my help," Melinda coughed.

"No," he said, "_You_ need yer help.  You need to take it easy."

She eased herself back down on the pillow.  "Why are you here?"

Bobby's heart sank.  He cleared his throat.  "I've been takin' care of ya."

"_You_?  Why?"

His frown widened.  "Well, it was the least I could do after _you _nursed _me_ when _I _was sick."

"And the doctor?  Why isn't Philip here instead?" she asked.

Bobby's eyes narrowed.  He had never heard Dr. Stokely called by his fist name.  Was there a special relationship between Melinda and the doctor?  _I bet he's courtin' her_, he thought.  _They sat together at the church picnic._

He shook his head to clear his thoughts.  "The doc's been here twice a day," he said.  "Seems that he was pretty worried too."

"I was _that_ bad?" she whispered.

Bobby nodded.  "But now everything's gonna be alright." 

"Oh, my!"  Her breath caught in her throat, and she coughed.  "What about Shalene Hoffman's wedding gown?"

"Her beau, Paul—I think that's his name—came an' got it when the doc told him you were sick."  He smiled.  "Would you like some coffee?  Mine ain't as good as yours, but it'll do."

"Sure," Melinda said, and she tried to smile back.  "Coffee sounds really good."

"I bet you're hungry too," Bobby realized.  "Ya want somethin' ta eat?"

"There's probably not much down there.  Is there?  I haven't bought supplies in forever."

"Sister Smith brought some ham an' bread.  Feel like a san'wich?"

"That would be great."

After Bobby left the room, Melinda sat up as best she could and sighed.  She ran a hand across the top of her head.  She gasped.  _I thought I looked bad the other day,_ she thought.  _Now I must look absolutely horrible.  What I wouldn't do to be able to wash my hair._

Despite the soreness in her muscles, she reached for her hairbrush on the night table.   Her hand touched something small and cool.  She picked up the brush, revealing the law badge.

"Where did that come from?" she wondered aloud.  "I haven't seen it since John died."

She snatched it up and laid it on her lap.  Then she began combing her unruly hair.  It would take forever to get all the tangles out.  She returned the brush to its resting place and clutched the badge in her hand.

Bobby returned with a plate and cup.  "Ham san'wich an' a cup of coffee," he announced.  "Plate in yer lap?"

She nodded and reached for the cup with her empty hand.

"Well, don't you look all pretty?" he smiled.  "Yer hair all smooth an' shiny.  How ya feelin'?"

She swallowed a sip of coffee.  "Actually really well considering the circumstances.  I'm jittery and weak, but okay."

"That's good ta hear."  He spotted her clenched fist.  "Whatcha got there in yer hand?"

She held up the coin.  "It's John's law badge.  I thought it was gone.  Do you know where it came from?"

Bobby rubbed at his neck.  "Well, I was lookin' fer some clothes to change into the first night I was here.  I hope you don't mind.  My shirt an' pants were soaked through from bein' out in the storm.  The badge fell outa a shirt pocket.  I was gonna ask ya 'bout it later."

"I'm glad you found it.  I wanted to keep it, but I hadn't seen it since…"  Her voice cracked.  "I remember now.  I had on John's shirt the day I found out about him.  I had worn some old clothes to ride into town.  Red  must have given it to me, and I stuck it in the pocket.  I hadn't been able to find it until now."  She lowered her hand and her eyes at the same time.  "Thank you."

"I'm sorry," Bobby whispered.

Melinda nodded.  She looked up at him again.  "I guess you probably haven't heard how he died—why Joey and I are alone."

"No," he admitted, "But I know it's painful.  You don't need to tell me."

"I want to," she said.  "That is—if you don't care to listen."

"I don't mind at all," Bobby said.   He pulled the rocking chair to the bedside.  "In fact, I'd _like _to know."

Melinda stared at the crust on her sandwich.  She pushed at a bread crumb and began her tale.  "It was a beautiful day in late May, the day of our fourth wedding anniversary.   Jonathan brought me breakfast in bed."  She smiled.  "I could hear Joey in his room singing.  He's always been an early riser.  Half the time he beats me up.

"Anyway, John had to go to Cold Spring to escort a convict to Houston for trial.  I begged him not to go.  After all, it _was_ our anniversary.  The sun was shining, and I wanted to have a picnic down by the creek.  But he knew, and _I_ knew, that he had to go.  It was his job—a job that he had sworn would come before family, friends, and his own self.  He was such an unselfish man.  Lawmen have to be.  That's why so many don't get married."

Bobby nodded.

"So after he left, Joey and I went to the creek by ourselves.  That afternoon, while we were picking wild flowers, a storm moved in.  It started raining before we could even get home.  I had never seen it rain as hard as it did that day.  I cried myself to sleep that night, for I knew the heavy rain would delay John's return.  I wanted him home right then.  It was bad enough that I wouldn't see him for three or four days, but now it would be even longer. 

"A week passed, and it rained every day _during _that week.  It was so miserable.  A million times I looked toward the road longing to see him, but he did not come home.  I didn't think he'd be gone that long, even with all the rain.  I knew the creek was probably pretty much impassable by foot or wagon.  All the water would have it out of its banks.  But his horse was strong, the best beast anyone in these parts had ever known.   Surely old Black could make it across, could bring him home to me.

"On the ninth day, I had to find out something, _anything_.  I hitched the wagon and headed toward town.  I figured the creek would have gone down enough by then.  It had.  We were a couple of miles down the road when Joey spotted a lone horse and rider.  I thought it was John at first, but as he drew nearer, I saw that it was Red.

"I knew by the look on his face that something was wrong.  He wanted me to turn around and go back home, wanted to talk to me somewhere where I was comfortable, he said.  But I refused.  I lowered Joey down to the ground to play in the mud, and I made Red tell me the news right there in the middle of the road.  He said the marshal had ridden to Point Blank himself to tell me but couldn't get out to my house on account of all the water.  So he left word with Red and went back to the city.

"Apparently some man from the east part of the state was traveling through Huntsville gambling, taking people for rides, cheating them out of money, horses, all sorts of things.  The story around the town was that his wife had died a few years back, and he was upset.  He turned to the bottle and a deck of cards.  He gambled and drank away his family fortune.  And then he was cheating people to try to gain some of it back.

"John had had only stopped in town to wire the marshal of his delay, but since they had no sheriff, he knew that he had to take care of this character.  Well, the man caught wind that Jonathan was coming, and he waited for him in the alley outside the saloon.  He shot him in cold blood.  John never even had a chance to draw.  He didn't see it coming.

"The marshal said that the local pastor had had a small service for him in the church cemetery.  Thought it would be better than sending him all the way home in the mud and heat.  Red took me out there to the grave.  It about killed me knowing that John was buried so far from home.  In fact, I haven't been back since."  She broke off a piece of the sandwich and nibbled it.

Bobby closed his eyes momentarily.  He had never realized just how strong this woman in front of him really was.  Now he knew.  He opened his eyes.  "What about the gambler—the man who killed John?" he asked.  "Did he hang?"

Melinda looked at him sadly.  "No.  He ran, got away.  Though they knew he was from the East, they had no name, no town, nothing to go by.  They have a composite drawing, the one on his wanted poster, but that's all really."

"I'm sorry for yer loss," Bobby said sincerely.  "I understand yer pain.  An' if I can do anything to help you an' little Joey, just let me know."

She nodded.  "I think I'm done with this."  She held up the plate.

He stood and took it from her.  "Tell you what—I'll go downstairs so you can get some rest."

She sank down between the pillows and closed her eyes.  Bobby walked slowly toward the door.

"Bobby," Melinda whispered.

He turned toward her.  "Yes?"

"Thank you for listening."

"Yer welcome."

Bobby sat at the table staring out the window.  A million thoughts seemed to rush around in his mind.  His heart ached for Melinda, and yet he was amazed at how well she handled herself.  He was ashamed of himself for being so distraught over LeAnna.  He wanted to be strong like Melinda was.  And Joey—he hardly even knew his daddy.  _Poor_ _little tyke_, he thought.

Birdie came to mind next.  He wondered how she was.  He'd ask Dr. Stokely.  The doc would probably be by in the afternoon.

Next he thought of Red.  _He must be workin' his fingers to the bone_.  Well, as soon as Melinda was strong enough, he would get back to the farm to help Red.

_This is a real good family I've become friends with.  Melinda, Birdie, Red, and Joey.  Gosh, little Joey must miss his momma._

 A knock sounded at the door, and he rose from the chair.  It was Dr. Stokely.  "How's Melinda?"

"Much better," Bobby replied.  "She was awake awhile ago an' ate a few bites.  She's asleep now, though."

"Good, good," the doctor said as he placed his hat atop the coat rack.  "I'll stick around until she wakes up just to make sure everything is alright."

Bobby shook his head in agreement.  "Coffee?"

"Oh, no.  I'm fine."

They both walked toward the divan.  Bobby's toe kicked something.  He bent down and pick up the item, one of Joey's toy building blocks.  He stared at it for a few seconds.  "Is Melinda still contagious?" he asked.

"No, shouldn't be."  The doctor sat down.

Bobby did not.  "You said yer gonna stay here for a little while?"

"Yes," Doc Stokely replied.  "At least until I can examine Melinda thoroughly.  And I bet she'll want help washing her hair.  Women have a thing about that."

"You think that'll be long enough for me to run into town an' back?"

"Probably.  Why?"  
"Just a few thing I need to pick up."  He didn't wait for the doctor to say anything else.  He practically ran to the barn for his horse.

In town, he got some clothes from the boardinghouse and then proceeded to the general store.

"What supplies does Melinda Warren usually get when she comes in?" he asked Mr. Hudson who was unpacking some crates.

"I'll look in my ledger," the man replied.  He walked to the glass counter.  "Is Miss Warren okay?" he asked as he opened the book.  "She hasn't been in lately."

"Actually," Bobby said, "She had a run-in with the scarlet fever, but she's better now."

"Here's her account."  Mr. Hudson pointed to the page.  "Would you like me to gather the items for you?"

"Sure.  I need ta run ta Pastor Smith's house anyway.  Be back in a few."

Bobby knocked at the parsonage door, but there was no reply.  Then he heard voices at the back of the house.  As he turned the corner, he heard Joey asking questions.

"Mrs. Smith, when is my mommy gonna get well again?"

Bobby could not hear Lyla's response. 

Joey paused momentarily and then, "Is she gonna die like my daddy did?"

Bobby hurried toward him.  "No, she is not.  In fact, how would you like ta go see her?"

"Really?"  Joey clapped his hands.  "Can I Mr. Lester?  Can I?"

"Well," Bobby said, "You'd better ask Mrs. Smith if it's alright."

"I think that sounds like a wonderful idea," Lyla smiled.  "And Bobby, I have some more bread for you."

He lifted Joey with one arm.  "I don't think there'll be room on this trip, Mrs. Smith.  I'm takin' some supplies back with me.  Ya think I could come get it tomorrow?"

"Sure, that would be fine."

He hurriedly carried Joey to his horse and lifted him to the saddle.

At the mercantile, Mr. Hudson had the order ready.  Bobby handed him the required cash.  "Does Miss Warren have any money due on her account?" he asked.

The store's owner opened the ledger once more.  "Three dollars and sixty-two cents."

Bobby gave him more coins.  "That should take care of it.  An' give me a bagful of those lemon drops."

Joey's eyes grew wide.  "You takin' that candy to my mommy?"

Bobby grinned.  "Yep, an' some of it's fer you."

Joey clapped his hands again.  "Oh, goody!  That's mine an' Mama's favorite!  She'll be 'sited."

Bobby's smile grew wider.

Joey talked all the way home.  The anticipation of finally seeing his mother was almost more than he could bear.  Bobby didn't mind the endless chatter.  He actually quite enjoyed it.  He was growing so fond of the little boy.

"I decided what I want to be when I git big," he informed Bobby.

"What's that?"

"I wanna be a policeman like my daddy was.  'Cept I don't want to chase mean men.  My momma says that's too dang'rous.  I figure I could just look at cut fences and' try ta catch the guys who steal farmers' cows.  That would be safer."

Bobby cleared his throat.  "Have ya told yer momma this before?"

The boy shook his head.  "No."

"Well, maybe you should have another job ta fall back on in case yer momma don't like that choice."

Joey looked up to the sky.  "'Kay, I could be a post rider.  That'd be fun."

Bobby chuckled.  A post rider was almost as dangerous as a ranger.  It seemed Joey liked adventure.  Bobby wondered if the boy _could_ chose a job Melinda would agree with.  "Wouldn't ya wanna be a rancher like yer Uncle Red?"

Naw, that's gettin' boring.  I mean, I like the calf ropin' an' brandin' an' stuff, but that haulin' hay an' givin' the cows medicine don't look fun at all."

Bobby agreed.  It was hard work.  But what profession wasn't?  "You've got a lot of time ta think 'bout it," he said.  "Who knows what you'll choose.  Maybe a doctor or a preacher."

"No, those jobs are boring too," Joey insisted.  "I like Doc Stokley and Preacher Smith, but they ain't exac'ly excitin'."

Bobby thought for a moment.  "Do you know Doc Stokley very good?" he asked.  "I mean, does he spend very much time with yer momma?"

"No," Joey answered.  "He comed over awhile back ta ask Mama if she would be his nurse.  I 'member 'im askin' 'er.  But she told 'im that she didn't want to be a nurse anymore, that she liked 'er sewin' business."

"So he doesn't come over ta yer house a lot?"

"No, just that one time that I can 'member."

Bobby breathed a sigh of relief.

"Mr. Lester," Joey said after a short moment of silence.

"Yes, sir?"

"Are you gonna marry my momma?"

Bobby's heart jumped to his throat.  How should he answer?  He had many times had the very thought himself.  He shook his head.  He was a wanted man.  "No, Joey.  I'm not gonna marry yer momma."

"Why not?  You'd make a great pa."

Bobby spotted a hawk in the distant sky.  He pointed toward it.  "See that black speck in the sky?"  He could feel Joey's head bob up and down under his chin.  "That's a hawk.  Hawks are really big birds."

"Doesn't look very big ta me."

"That's because we're so far away from it."

"Can we see one up close, Mr. Lester?"

He smiled.  "How 'bout you call me Bobby?"

"Are you sure that's okay?" Joey asked.  "My momma said I have ta say 'Miss' an' 'Mister'."

"An' that's good," Bobby agreed.  "Go ahead an' call everyone else 'Miss' an' 'Mister,' but I'll let yer ma know that it's okay fer ya ta call me Bobby.  I like it better.  That alright with you?"

"Great.  So you think we could pet a hawk bird?"

"No, prob'ly not.  They don't take too kindly to people bein' near them."

"Oh."

"Ya wanna surprise yer ma when you get home?" Bobby asked the boy.

 "Okay."

"She doesn't know yer comin'," the young man explained.  "So you be real quiet-like so that she doesn't know yer there.  Then we'll surprise her with you an' the lemon drops."

Joey giggled.   "Mama likes s'prises."

The boy did not say a word as they unsaddled the horse in the barn.   He whispered to Bobby when they stepped inside the house.  "Will you carry me upstairs?  I'm 'fraid I can't make it without makin' noise."

Bobby nodded and lifted him to his shoulder.  He set him back on the floor outside Melinda's bedroom.  "I'll go first," the man said.  He quietly knocked at the door.

"It's okay," Melinda said.  "Come on in."

He stepped inside.  "How ya feelin'?" he asked her.

"Even better," she replied.

"I hope good enough for a big supper.  I ran ta town an' picked up some supplies.  Gonna make ya a feast."

She smiled.  "Sounds good."

The doctor snapped his medical bag shut.  "Sounds good to me too.  What time should I be back?"

They all laughed.

"Oh," Bobby interjected.  "An' I picked ya up somethin' else in town too."

"What's that?" she asked.

He stepped into the hallway again and picked up Joey.  "When we walk into yer momma's room," he whispered to the boy, "you shout 'surprise'."

"Okay."

 They turned the corner of the door facing.  "S'prise!" Joey exclaimed, and then he snickered loudly.

"Joey!"  Melinda joined the laughter.  "It's so good to see you, little guy."

Bobby set him on the bed next to Melinda.  "An' we got anover s'prise fer ya too," the boy told her.

She hugged him close.  "Another?  Wow.  What is _it_?"

"Lemon drops!"  He held the bag high in the air and sprinkled several pieces of candy around them.

They all were laughing again.

Joey shrugged his shoulders.   "An' I didn't even haf ta tell Bobby what kind you liked.  He already knew!"

Bobby smiled.  "I told him he could call me 'Bobby' since I'm his special friend."  He paused.  "An' the lemon drops was just a lucky guess.  I just got the kind I like and hoped y'all liked 'em too."

Dr. Stokely stepped toward the door.  He looked at Bobby.  "How 'bout we leave them alone for awhile?"

Bobby nodded and followed him downstairs.  "When do ya think Melinda will be able ta git up an' around?" he asked.

"Any time now," Dr, Stokely replied.  "She just needs to take it slowly.  It will take her awhile to regain her strength.  But she knows that.  Hopefully she'll go easy.  Make sure she gets plenty to eat and lots of water.  Have her walk around the room a couple times a day to regain her muscle strength before she tries the stairs.  I'll stop by one last time in a couple of days to make sure everything's going alright."

Bobby closed the door behind the man in the black suit.  He slowly walked to the kitchen.  "Time ta make supper," he told himself excitedly.  He looked forward to taking care of Melinda for a few more days.  And having Joey there would make the stay even more enjoyable.

Dinner consisted of scrambled eggs, bacon, fried potatoes, and cornbread.  He didn't know how to make much more than that.  _And _he really didn't know _how much _to make.  There were a lot of leftovers.

Melinda seemed to eat well enough, and Bobby encouraged her to get out of bed and walk around a bit.  She ended her exercise with a sit in the rocking chair reading Joey a story.

Bobby also listened intently to her gentle voice from across the room.  He had almost fallen asleep when he remembered that he had dinner dishes to wash and supplies to put away.  As he shuffled down the staircase, he heard a knock at the front door.  Feeling charged from the time spent with Melinda and Joey, he jumped the banister and landed gracefully on the hardwood floor below.  He grinned and rushed to the door.  Betty Hoffines smiled her 'hello.'

"Bobby," she said, "Philip said you were here.  I need to talk to you about doin' some more work for me on the house.  I'm gonna sell it after me and Philip get married.  An' since the day was so pretty, thought I'd ride out here before dusk.  Do you think you'll be able to do some more work for me in the next few weeks?"

Bobby motioned toward the porch.  "I don't see why not," he said.  "I need to help Red O'Brien get things caught up around his farm.  Then I should have some time to help ya out.  You and the doc, huh?  I had no idea.  Let's take a little walk and discuss what all ya need done."

Betty nodded, and they stepped toward the apple grove.

Melinda returned to her room after putting Joey to bed.  It was still early, but the boy was tuckered after the long day of excitement.  She stopped next to the armoire that still held John's clothes.  "I have got to go through all of his things," she told herself.  "I just haven't been able to find the time.  I've sewn more in the last ten months than I think I have in my entire life before that."  She sighed.  "Bobby must think I'm crazy, still having my deceased husband's clothes in the closet.

"Of course, he'd think I was crazy anyway if he heard me talking to myself right now."  She shook her head and then looked toward the window.  She listened.  She could have sworn she heard a woman's voice.  Had someone come to visit?  Perhaps it was Sister Lyla.  _I'd love to have a nice chat with her_, Melinda thought.

She walked to the window.  The evening shadows were beginning to grow long, but she noticed an appaloosa mare just around the corner of the house.  She did not recognize the horse.  She then spotted some movement near the fence.  She could tell one of the figures there was Bobby.  The other person was a lady, but who, she did not know.  She leaned as close to the window as possible without sticking her head outside.  She didn't want to be seen and have Bobby thinking she was spying on him.  _Even though I am_, she thought.  Bobby said something, and his companion laughed.  They stepped into the late golden sunlight.  Bobby was grinning from ear to ear.

"That's Betty Hoffines!" Melinda almost shouted.  She recalled that Bobby had said that he was at Betty's house when Chad was ill.  "And they were always talking to each other at the church picnic.  Bobby must be courting her," she decided.  Her heart sank.  She rolled her eyes.  "Oh, stop it," she told herself.  "You weren't really interested in him anyway."

She sat down on the bed.  _I don't really want to go to bed this early,_ she thought.  _I'll just rest my eyes a little, and then I'll get up and start sorting through John's things.  Hmmm…  Red probably wouldn't be able to wear John's pants.  He isn't as thin as John was_.  She shrugged_.  I could let them out for him.  No, they still probably wouldn't be big enough.  I guess I could shorten them for Bobby.  Wait—I know—that boy Johnson who works for Mr. Calahan—he's quite tall.  I bet they would fit him._

She closed her eyes.  She let her mind wander.  When she came to her senses, she realized that she had been thinking of Bobby.  _And_ she realized that she had dozed off.  It was now dark outside and in her bedroom.  She sighed.  _I might as well go on to bed now.  I'll get up early and work on cleaning out the closets in the morning.  _But now she couldn't sleep for thinking about Bobby and Betty.


	8. Out of the House

The next morning, Melinda found it impossible to open her eyes.  It was if they were glued shut.  She touched one eye.  _They have cold in them, _she thought.  _The cold has matted them shut.  _She thought of the water basin on the dresser.  _If I can get to the water, I can wash them, soak them apart._

She sat up and pushed herself to the edge of the bed. She was sore from shoulders to toes.   She mentally pushed the pain aside and stood slowly.  With her hands, she felt the air around her.  In her mind, she drew a picture of the room.  _The dresser should be over there.  _She shakily stepped in a straight line.  She touched something cool with the tip of her finger.  She took one more step and felt the object.  It was the dresser.  She ran both hands over the top of the wooden surface.

_Pitcher, _she thought.  _And basin.  _She lifted the pitcher and touched it to the bowl with a clatter.  She could hear a stream of water pouring into the basin.  _That was easy enough.  But now I need a cloth.  _She pulled open the top drawer and reached inside.  Immediately she winced in pain, for she cracked her knuckle on the wooden frame.  She sighed and felt once more for the bowl.

Soon the wet cloth moistened her eyes enough for her to open them.  By this time, she was exhausted, but she wanted so much to be out of that bedroom, out of the house even.  The weather outside had looked simply beautiful yesterday.  So today, after she cleaned out the closets, she decided, she would go for a little walk.

_Joey loves to go on walks_, she thought.  _I'll make him a good breakfast, clean around the house, and then we'll head outside.  _She stepped slowly down the steps.

Bobby awoke to a noise.  A scream perhaps?  At first, he had to examine his surroundings to remember where he was.  He sat up straight.  "Melinda?"

He pulled on his shirt and hurried across the hallway.  Melinda's bedroom door was open, and she was not in the bed.  He walked to Joey's room.  The boy was still asleep.  He slowly turned toward the stairs.

_No, Melinda, no.  Surely you didn't…_

He peered down the sloped entrance to the second floor.  "Melinda?"  He could see her lying near the bottom step.  He galloped to her side.

"Melinda, are you alright?"

She did not respond.

He checked for a pulse.  "Oh, thank God!"

He slipped his arms underneath her and lifted her to his chest.  He brushed a kiss across her forehead and spoke to her quietly as he carried her upstairs.  "I sure hope yer okay.  Why'd you try ta go down there own yer own?  I woulda helped ya.  You gotta take care of yerself.  I don't want ta lose you like I did LeAnna."

_Don't talk like that,_ something inside him said.  _Melinda isn't yours to lose._  Acknowledging this truth, he felt the weight of his heavy heart as he laid her gently on the bed.

_I'm gonna have ta git outa here,_ he silently told himself.  _Iffen I don't want ta git in over my head, I need ta just stay away from her.  If I get away, I wont fall any harder._

_But I can't go just yet,_ he decided, _especially if she hurt herself fallin' down them stairs.  But just as soon as she gets her strength back, I'll leave,_ he promised himself.

Melinda's groan of pain woke him from his thoughts.  He smoothed her hair away from her face.  "You okay, Sweetie?"  He gasped and closed his mouth quickly.  He hoped she did not hear him call her 'Sweetie.'

"My head," she whispered.  "My head hurts."

"Open yer eyes," Bobby said.  "Can ya see alright?"

She nodded and then winced in pain.

"You hurt anywhere else?" he asked.

"No," she replied.  "No, I don't think so."

"Good.  No broken bones, I hope.  We'll have the doc check you out next time he stops by."

Among the pillows and blankets, Melinda struggled to sit up.  Without thinking, Bobby reached out with his strong arms and pulled her up.

Melinda blushed.  "Uh, thank you."

Bobby then realized what he had done.  "Oh, I'm… I'm sorry.  I…"

She held up a hand to stop him.  "It's okay."

He breathed in deeply.  "I'll go, uh, go make breakfast."

"I can help," she suggested.

He shook his head.  "I don't think it's a good idea for you to try those steps again 'til you get a little stronger."

"That _was_ rather stupid, huh?" she asked.

"No, not stupid, just kinda premature.  I know yer prob'ly bored silly up here all day long.  I know _I_ was when _you _wouldn't let _me _outa bed."

"Yeah, I was hoping maybe to spend some time outside," she said.  "I guess it's too late to put a garden in this year, but I just didn't have time before now—and then all of this...."  She sighed.  "I bet Red hasn't had time to keep theirs up.  It will be too bad if he hasn't.  They always have the best tomatoes.  But with Birdie sick and all…"

Bobby attempted to change the subject.  "Whatcha want for breakfast?  Heaven knows I ain't a great cook, but I'm willin' to try ta make anything.  Waffles?  Pancakes?  Surely I can't mess them up."

"That's fine," she said.   "Will you take me to Birdie's house today?"

He just looked at her.  She knew the answer.  Of course he wouldn't take her to Birdie's house today.  Not until she got better.

"Tomorrow?" she attempted.

"Tell ya what," he said, "Doc Stokely will prob'ly come by tomorrow I'm guessin'.  An' if he says you're well enough to go to yer sister's, we'll go.  But not without his approval.  Okay?"

"Okay.  Pancakes."

"I'm sorry?"

"Pancakes," she said again.  "For breakfast.  Joey likes pancakes better than waffles."

Bobby smiled.  "Well, then pancakes it is."

Despite Bobby's lack of cooking ability, breakfast turned out fine.  He had only made pancakes on one other occasion, he remembered, and they had been awful.  But these were decent.  In fact, little Joey ate three, much more, Melinda said, than usual.

She decided to put off her cleaning until the afternoon.  She would first take a quick nap.  She was tired and sore and most uncomfortable.  She would ask Bobby to bring her some butter for her irritated skin.  She scratched the back of her hand and drifted off to sleep.

When she awoke, she had to repeat the ritual of soaking her eyes, for they once again were matted shut.  She pulled the wet cloth from her face one last time and opened her eyes.  She gasped, and fear gripped her heart.  She could not see anything.  She closed her eyes hard and then opened them again.  Darkness.  She swallowed.

"Bobby?"  She stepped in the direction of the door.  "Bobby," she called again.

Bobby came running.  "What is it?"

"I can't see," she whispered.  "Everything is dark."

"Should I go get the doc?  Your may have really hurt yourself when you fell."

"No, just give me a minute," she said.  "I think I can sense some light over there."  She pointed toward the window.  "Will you stay with me until I can see again?"

"Of course," Bobby replied.  "What should I do?  Do you need somethin'?"

She closed her eyes hard again and reopened them slowly.  "It's coming back.  No, I don't think I need anything right now.  I can see images now, but everything is blurry."  She blinked several more times.  "There we go.  I'm fine now."  Streams of tears poured down her cheeks.  "Fine, that is, if my eyes will stop watering."

Bobby handed her a kerchief.

The doctor did not come for two days, but when he did, he said that Melinda was well enough to travel.  Her fall down the stairs yielded little more than a knot on her head and a bruised cheekbone.  The temporary blindness was due to the fever settling in her eyes.  It was possible she may have to deal with the problem for a few more days.  In addition, she was still quite weak.  But she was ready and willing to get away from the house.

Bobby hitched the team to the wagon while Melinda got ready.  Joey was in his room playing.  Bobby then stepped inside the house and looked around.  He glanced up the staircase to be sure that no one was there.  He carried a wooden crate from the kitchen to the wagon and covered it with a blanket.  Then he returned to the house.

Melinda and Joey were now in the living room.  She was tucking in his shirttail.

"But I like it _out_, Mommy," Joey told her.  "It's more comforble."

"How old are you?" she asked him.

He held up three fingers.

"Three?" she asked.  "That pretty much makes you a man.  Don't you think?"

He nodded.

Melinda pointed to Bobby.  "Now look at Bobby.  He's a man too.  Does he have _his _shirt hanging out?"

"No," Joey answered.  "It's tucked."

"Then don't you think you should tuck yours too?"

"Okay," Joey finally agreed.  "But jus' 'cause Bobby does."  He allowed her to tuck in the shirt.

Bobby chuckled to himself.

Bobby brought the wagon to a stop at the top of the driveway.  He nodded toward the sky.  "Look, Joey.  There's another hawk."  He clucked to the team and directed them westward.

Melinda looked at him questioningly.  "I may have been unconscious for awhile, but I still know that this isn't the way to town."

He grinned slightly.  "We're goin' the _long _way."

"The long way?" she repeated.  "I've lived here for more than five years, and I didn't know there _was _a long way."

"There is… sort of."

"Where we goin', Bobby?" Joey asked from behind them.  He had insisted on riding in the back of the wagon.

"You'll see when we get there."

"Get where?" Melinda added.  "There _is_ nothing this way for miles."

"C'mon," Joey squealed.  "Please tell us."

"Nope.  You'll both have ta wait an' see," Bobby said.

Melinda wiggled uncomfortably on the wagon bench.  _Where is he taking us?_ she wondered.  _This worries me.  I haven't really known him that long.  And he **is **wanted for murder._

_But he nursed you back to health_, she reminded herself._  If he wanted to hurt you, he would have done it before now.  He's been nothing but nice to you._

She sighed and tried to relax.  Yes, she trusted him. _ How could I be in love with someone that I don't trust? _she asked herself.When she realized what she had just thought, she mentally corrected herself.  _I'm **not **in love with him.  _But despite her statement, her heart fluttered at the idea.

She wiggled again, this time to clear her thoughts and to hide her feelings from the man next to her.  She lifted her head to examine her surroundings.  It seemed like forever since she had been outside.  The tall pine trees looked greener, the grass cooler, the sun brighter, and the Spanish moss on the oak trees even more beautiful.

A honeysuckle bush grew on a nearby fence post, and a bumblebee buzzed at the flowers.  She smiled.  She remembered how John once showed Joey how to make a bumblebee "rattle."  He caught a bee in a hollyhock and closed the petals around it.  When he shook the balled flower, the insect buzzed and rattled.  She laughed to herself, for she recalled that the bumblebee was as mad as a wet hornet when John let it go.  _It chased him all around the yard,_ she thought.  She wiped at her cheeks with her hankie.  Her eyes watered and protested to the bright sunlight.

She did not notice Bobby looking her way.  He knew he shouldn't nurse his feelings for her.  He knew he couldn't fall in love with her.  But he couldn't help watching her.  She was so pretty.  Her brown hair was smooth and shiny—like silk, he decided.  He recalled her hair's softness.  _And her skin is even softer,_ he thought.  He tingled with the remembrance of her touch.  Her eyes were deep green—the same color as LeAnna's, he realized.  He checked the road and then glanced back to Melinda.  His eyes stopped at her lips.  His heartbeat quickened.  He had a strong desire to kiss those luscious red lips.

He jerked his head back in the direction of the road.  He had to stop this.  He couldn't do this to himself.  He spit on the ground near the moving wagon.  He turned and checked on Joey who was playing with a rope and apparently talking to himself.  Bobby fixed his eyes on the trees in front of him and set his jaw, determined not to look at Melinda again.  He simply couldn't.

Joey moved up on his knees and leaned against the seat.  "Mommy, where's that big ol' house we see when we go to that one town?"

"The manor house?" she asked him.  He nodded.  "It's the south of here," she said.  "On the road to Cold Spring."

"Yeah," Joey agreed.  "It's on the way to Cold Spring."

After a few more moments, Bobby announced, "Here we are."

Melinda brushed tears from her eyes and looked around.  "Here we are… where?"  There was nothing but the grass fields and a small grove of trees.

"See those oak trees?" he asked.

She nodded.

"There's a pond in over there—a perfect spot for a picnic."  He bounded from the wagon.  He swung an eager Joey down with one arm and then held out his hand to help Melinda.

Joey ran around the wagon laughing.  "Watch, Momma, I'm an Indian."  He patted his mouth with one hand and whooped as he ran across the field.

"Don't go too far," she called after him.

She was still weak and having some difficulty stepping from the high platform.  Bobby picked her up at the waist and placed her firmly on the ground.  She ran a hand across her face to hide her blushing cheeks.  Bobby did not notice.

"Hurry!  Hurry!" Joey shouted.  "Let's hurry!"

Bobby took the box and blanket from the back of the wagon.  "We're comin'."

Melinda regained her composure and fell into step next to Bobby.  Joey skipped on ahead.

"I hope you don't mind me doin' this," Bobby told Melinda as they entered the covering of trees.  "I just thought we all could use some fun after the past few weeks we've been through."

"It's fine," she said.  "This _is_ a very pretty grove.  How did you learn of it?"

"I camped here a few days when I first came to the area.  Figured nobody'd look for me out here in the middle of nowhere."

Once again remembering that Bobby was a fugitive, Melinda frowned.  "If you don't mind my asking, what do you plan to do with yourself in the days to come?  Have you considered turning yourself in?"

He returned her unhappy expression.  "We don't need our day of fun interrupted by talk of my problems.  How 'bout we talk about that later—tomorrow maybe.  I'll tell ya anything ya want ta know.  But right now, let's just have a good time."  With that, he hurried his steps and caught up with Joey who was chasing a butterfly near the edge of the pond.

Melinda sighed.  He was right.  There wasn't any need to talk of it today.  It could wait.  And it was so nice of him to plan the picnic for them.  She would enjoy the beautiful day of food and friendship.

She surveyed her surroundings.  How great it was to be outdoors!  How great it was just to be alive.  It was a wonderful day.  She continued walking toward the pond.

She looked upward to the sky.  Another hawk flew in a circle.  _They are beautiful b…  _She stumbled and fell to the ground.  She winced in pain and tried to dislodge her foot from the tangled grasses beneath her.  She had stepped in a hole and twisted her ankle.  She looked Bobby's way.  He and Joey were still busy chasing the butterfly.  She rubbed at her foot and leg and tried to stand, but the pain was too great, so she sank back to the ground.

_I've just turned into a total klutz since I was sick,_ she thought.  She stood on her good leg and slowly placed her wounded foot solidly on the grass.  Pain shot up her side once more.  She raised up her foot again.  The twisted ankle only hurt a little bit if she did not put any pressure on it.

_Perhaps I can hop over there_, she decided.  _Then by the time we leave to go to town, it will have stopped hurting. _She took a deep breath and jumped on her good foot.  _Yes, that will work._  But it did not.  A few more hops, and she was on the ground again.  She wasn't yet strong enough to exert that kind of energy.

"Melinda?" she heard Bobby call.  And then he came running.

She struggled to get to her feet—or _foot_ anyway.

"Here, let me help you," he said.  He pulled her up.  "What's the matter?  Did you fall?"

She closed her eyes against the pain.  Now _both_ legs ached.  "Yes, I hurt my ankle.  And then when I tried to walk, or hop rather, I fell again."

"Can you walk on it now?" he asked.

She shook her head.  "No, I don't think so."  She didn't want to tell him that she had actually hurt both ankles.

"I'll help you then.  Put your arm around me."

She did as instructed.

"Let's take a step," he said.

She pushed herself forward but could not walk without pain.  "It's no use," she coughed.  "Somehow I've twisted them both.  I can't believe this has happened."  She removed her arm from his waist and kneeled beside him.

He bent down next to her.  "Should I get ya to the doctor?"

Tears filled her eyes, but not from the pain.  The pain wasn't _that _bad.  Why was she crying?  "I don't want to mess up your picnic plans," she whispered.

"You're more important than any picnic," he told her.

She brushed a teardrop from her cheek and shook her head.  "No, I don't need to go to the doctor.  I'll be fine.  I'm sure they are just twisted a little, nothing major.  I'd like to stay here.  If I just could somehow get over to the blanket."

"How 'bout I bring the blanket to you?" he asked.

Joey walked up then.  "What's takin' so long?  Mommy, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Joey."

Bobby stood up.  "Joe, you wanna help me bring the picnic stuff over here?  This looks like a better place."

"In the sun?" the boy asked.  "We don't wanna have the picnic in the hot sun."

Bobby looked upward momentarily.  "You're absolutely right."  He bent down and slipped one hand under Melinda's legs and the other around her torso.  He lifted her high off the ground.  "Instead of bringing the blanket to you, I'll just have to bring _you _to the _blanket._"

Joey giggled.  "Yer gonna carry my momma?  Why can't she just walk?"

"She hurt her foot," Bobby explained.  "C'mon.  Let's go."

Melinda did not know what to say.  She couldn't object.  She couldn't _walk _to the cover of the shade trees.  And Joey was right—a picnic in the sun would be no fun.  So she said nothing at all.  She held on and rested her head against Bobby's strong shoulder.

When he lowered her to the blanket, she surprised herself by not wanting to leave his embrace.  She silently reprimanded herself and sat up straight on the soft pallet.

"Can we eat now?" Joey asked.

Bobby began unpacking the box.  "Yes, sir, Mr. Joseph.  Roast beef san'wiches, fresh strawberries from Miss Parker's garden, and lemonade.  I hope it tastes alright.  I had never made it before, so I just kept adding sugar and water 'til I thought it tasted okay."

Joey plopped down in the middle of the blanket.  "Lemonade and roast beef san'wiches are the bestest."

"Well, I guess I did a good job, then," Bobby grinned.

Melinda smiled also.  It was amazing how well Bobby fit into their little family.  She had never seen Joey take so well to anyone but his father and Uncle Red.  And somehow Bobby seemed to guess their favorites.  Probably just coincidence, but nevertheless amazing.  She absentmindedly watched a honey bee buzz about her.  She bit her lip as she thought about the happenings of the past month.  Bobby seemed so perfect for her.  If only he wasn't on the run, wasn't wanted by the law.  _Even though he's innocent, he'll never be able to live a normal life,_ she concluded.

"Melinda?"

She jerked her head up.  "Huh?"

"Lemonade," Bobby said.  "Do you want more lemonade?"

"Oh.  No.  No, thank you."

"You haven't eaten much.  Are you sick again?"

"No."  She shook her head.  "I'm just not hungry."

"Well, yer never gonna regain yer strength iffen ya don't eat."

"Okay.  I promise to do better.  But I'm really not hungry right now."

Joey stuffed the crust of the bread of his sandwich in his mouth.  "I done," he mumbled.  "Ca we go Aun' Bir'ie's now?"

"Joseph Dean!" Melinda gasped.  "Don't talk with your mouth full."

He swallowed hard.  "I'm sorry, Mama.  You, too, Bobby.  But can we?  Can we go to Aunt Birdie's now?"

"Are you done?" Bobby asked Melinda.

She nodded.

He returned all the leftover food to the crate.  "You think you can walk now?"

"I'll sure try," she said.

"Here, I'll help ya up."  He lifted her to her feet.  "Does it hurt?"

She nodded again.  It did—a little.

"Then I'll carry you."

Melinda opened her mouth to object but shut it quickly.

Bobby turned to the little boy.  "Joe, iffen I carry the blanket and yer momma, you think you can carry the box of food?"

"No problem."  Joey jumped to his feet and grabbed for the crate.


	9. Rejection

The ride to the O'Brien's house was a quiet one.  Even Joey did not talk much.  Melinda was lost in thought while Bobby surveyed the surroundings.

He nodded to the southern sky.  "Looks like we may get a few storms today."  Then the silence fell again.

Melinda held an inward conversation with herself.  She was confused.  Could she allow herself to fall for a man with an uncertain future?  _No,_ she answered.  She looked at him momentarily.  Her heart fluttered.  _Too late.  You already have._

_Then what are you going to do?_ she asked herself.  _What if he has to leave suddenly?  Or suppose he gets arrested?_

_Better yet, what if he doesn't feel the same way about you as you do toward him? He **has been** spending a lot of time at Betty Hoffine's house.   Either way, you're setting yourself up for a heartbreak.  You've got to stop this.  You cannot let yourself feel this way.  Stop it._

She sat up straight.  She would force herself to control her emotions.  She would not fall any deeper for Bobby Lester.  Her feelings for him must now come to a dead stop.  She squared her shoulders.  _You can do this,_ she told herself.  She refused to look at him the rest of their journey.

She pushed both feet firmly against the floorboard of the wagon.  No pain in her ankles.  And even if they _did_ still hurt, she would not, could not ask Bobby for his help.  She would endure any pain necessary to avoid him carrying her again.  His embrace stirred up the emotions she was now trying to eradicate.

When Bobby brought the team to a stop outside the O'Brien's farmhouse, Melinda moved quickly to climb from the wagon.

"Hold on, I'll help you," Bobby told her.

She moved even faster.  "I'm fine.  I don't need your help."  But she spoke too soon.  Her heel caught on her skirt hem, and she fell toward the ground.  Bobby arrived at her side just in time to catch her.

"Ya all right?"

She nodded.  "I don't know what's wrong with me.  I'm just so incredibly clumsy lately."

"You're still weak from the scarlet fever," Bobby said.

She nodded again—anything to blame it on.  "Okay.  I'm alright now.  You can put me down."

He shook his head.  "I don't think so.  You have two hurt legs and are pretty shaky.  I'll take you inside."

"I can make it myself."

"No."  His voice made it clear that his decision was final.  "We don't want you hurt again."

She sighed deeply as she watched Joey climb from the wagon.  Her attempt to walk to the house by herself had caused her now to be in the exact position she was wanting to avoid.  She could feel Bobby's strong arms about her.  She closed her eyes, for she felt a bit dizzy.  She stiffened her body.  She _could not _enjoy this.  _Stop it!_ she commanded herself again.  _You cannot do this.  Stop it._

Joey ran ahead giggling.  He knocked on the door.

Birdie answered.  "Joey!"

"Oh, Aunt Birdie!  I'm so glad to see you."  He ran to her and hugged her legs.  "Do ya feel better now?  Bobby said you were still sick."

"I'm better.  I just kinda take it easy.  Where's yer momma?"

Joey laughed again.  "She's comin'.  Bobby's _carryin'_ her!"  He put his hand over his mouth.

Birdie stepped out on the porch.  "Carryin' her?  Whatever for?"

Melinda tried to hide her blushing face.  Birdie would be able to read it like a book.

"You still sick enough to be carried?" the younger sister asked.

"She's not sick anymore," Bobby said.  "She just fell and hurt her ankle.  Well, both ankles really."

Birdie held open the door.  "Get her in here, an' let's have a look at them."

He took her to the divan and lowered her to the cushions.

"Thank you," Melinda whispered.

Birdie began untying Melinda's boots.

"I'm okay," the older sister insisted.  "There's no need for all this."

"We have to make sure there are no broken bones," Birdie told her.  She examined both feet.

"What do you think?" Bobby asked.

"Can't tell," she replied.  "She'll need to take her stockin's off.  Bobby, how 'bout you take Joey down to the corral to see his Uncle Red.  I'll let you know if anything's wrong."

"Alright."  He looked at Melinda.  "I'll be back in a bit ta check on ya."  He scooped up Joey and headed for the door.  Joey began his excited chatter.

Birdie watched the door close behind them.  She walked to the window and waited for them to get some distance from the house.  Melinda pulled at her tights.  Birdie turned to her sister.  "No need to pull them off.  You know as well—or better—than I do that I don't need yer socks off to tell a broken bone."

She walked to the couch.  Melinda remained silent and refused to look at her.  Birdie grabbed a pillow and hit her sister on the head.  "You conniving little girl!"

"What did _I _do?" Melinda asked.

"Oh, sure.  Play innocent."

"I don't know what you're talking about."  Melinda stood up next to her sister.

Birdie pointed to the floor.  "_That's_ what I'm talking about.  Your feet aren't hurt."

Melinda shamefully sank back down on the couch.  "Well, they _were_.  I stepped in a hole."

"Well if they don't hurt _anymore_, then why was he carryin' you?" Birdie asked her.

Melinda shrugged.  "I fell out of the wagon, and he caught me."

"Fell on purpose I bet."

"No, it was _not _on purpose."

Birdie grinned.  "Did ya step in the hole on purpose?"

"Now why would I do that?"

"I don't know.  If _I_ was single an' wantin' the attention of a certain young man, I might try somethin' of the sort too."

"Birdie Sue!  I wasn't _trying _anything.  It was all an accident."  Melinda leaned back against the pillows and lowered her gaze to the floor.

Birdie sat down next to her.  "Okay," she said, "So it was an accident.  But it worked."

"What?" the older sister asked.

"You got to spend a few minutes in his arms."

Melinda blushed again.  "So?"

"So?" Birdie repeated.  "So, when I liked Red, I woulda died if he carried me across the yard."

"I don't _like _Bobby," Melinda said.

"Sure ya do."

"No."

"Then why are you blushing?  And why did you have your face all buried in his shoulder when I went outside?"

"First of all," Melinda almost shouted, "I am _not _blushing.  And I only had my head against his shoulder so, so that he could… could carry me easier," she finished lamely.

"I doubt a strong man like Bobby would have any problems towin' _Red _across the yard, let alone someone as petite as you," Birdie pointed out.

"I was just helping."

"I _bet_ you were."

"What does that mean?"

Birdie bit her lip.  "Oh, nothin'."

"Can we just stop this?" Melinda pleaded.  "It doesn't matter.  We haven't seen each other in over a week.  Let's not argue."

"I'm not arguin'," Birdie said.  "Just statin' facts."

Melinda rolled her eyes.  "How about we talk about something else?  Like you.  How are you feeling?"

"Much better."

"Did the doctor figure out what's wrong?"

"We found out the cause of the nausea," Birdie said.  "But there's nothin' wrong."

Melinda wrinkled her brow.  "I don't understand.  You were terribly ill."

"And I still am occasionally.  But it's worth it."

"It's worth what?'

"The _reason _I've been sick."

Melinda looked at her wide-eyed.  "You mean?"

She smiled.  "Uh-huh.  I'm about eight weeks along I think."

Melinda hugged her.  "That's wonderful!"  But then her face solemned.  "But that means the scarlet fever…"

"So far, things are fine," Birdie reminded her.  "We'll just have to see what happens.  I've got faith."

"And that's the best thing to do," Melinda agreed.  "Heaven knows I could do more of that myself.  Have you and Red picked out baby names yet?"

"Not yet.  We'll let ya know when we do."

The sisters talked awhile.  Birdie told of how, since she had gotten better, Red had been working day and night to make up for Bobby's absence.  The Parker boy had broken his arm when he was bucked off a horse.  Birdie offered to help Red on her good days, but of course, he refused.  She was so glad Melinda was better so that Bobby could come back to work.

Melinda explained that she had been unconscious during most of her bout with the fever.  She told of how Bobby and the doctor had been so worried.  She talked of her fall down the stairs and then their picnic at the pond.

Birdie grinned when she heard how Bobby had offered to carry Melinda.  This was her cue, she decided, to try her best to get this pair together.

Birdie insisted everyone stay for dinner.  She would fry a couple of chickens and make "all the fixin's," she said.

When everything was prepared, Melinda took Joey upstairs to help him wash up.  Here was Birdie's chance to talk to Bobby alone.  She pushed the pans of food to the back of the stove and went to find the men.

"You go on ahead," she told Red.  "I need to talk to Bobby for a minute."  Red gave her an all-knowing look and head for the house.

Bobby pulled off his gloves.  "What is it, Miss Birdie?"

"I was just wonderin' if you were plannin' on stayin' with Melinda tonight.  I know she's doin' better, but I kinda sense she's not as well as she pretends."

"I wondered that too," he said.  "She seems alright, but she keeps fallin' an' hurtin' herself.  I thought maybe she was havin' dizzy spells or was still pretty weak."

"She could be," Birdie agreed.  "But I'm sure you're eager to get back to the boardinghouse an' be by yerself."

"I don't mind at all stayin' with her iffen you think it's needed," he said.  "But she's a real independent lady.  She probably won't want me around any more."

"I doubt that'll be a problem," Birdie said under her breath.

"Course, the whole thing won't look too proper," Bobby went on.  "I've already been accused once of imposin' on 'er, if ya know what I mean.  Now, I don't care much 'bout my reputation.  You know I've been accused of worse.  But I'd never want to stain Melinda's good name."

"Everyone in town knows she's been real sick," Birdie told him.  "Surely they wouldn't assume…"

"People talk," he reminded her.

"I suppose yer right."  She smiled.  "Maybe I could come over every night an' sew ya in a bundling bag."

Bobby laughed.  "Can't say I've ever had that experience before.  Heard stories 'bout 'em though."

"Mama used to do that to Red when he came to visit overnight.  She trusted him, and he knew that.  But she just liked to give 'im a hard time.  Course, he thought it was funny, too…  Well, c'mon in for supper, and we'll think of somethin'."

Dinner was a marvelous affair.  Birdie had really out done herself.  Melinda and Bobby hadn't eaten that well in a long time.

"Everything was right good, Miss Birdie," Bobby said.  "Sure beats my cookin' any day."

"You don't cook that bad," Joey piped up.  "I really liked yer flapjacks."

Bobby chuckled and turned to Melinda.  "How ya fairin'?" he asked.

"Fine."  She gave him a fake smile.  The truth of the matter was that she was quite uncomfortable.  Now that Birdie knew that she had feelings for Bobby, she was worried what her little sister might do or say.

He placed a hand on her arm.  "How's yer ankle—or both of 'em?"

"Fine," she said again.

Birdie decided this was her time to speak up.  "Melinda, I don't think that you should be out there at yer house all alone.  You're still not completely recovered, an' with two bad ankles…"

"Bobby's gonna come home with us," Joey said.  "Ain't ya, Bobby?"

Bobby looked from Melinda to Joey to Birdie and back to Melinda.  "Uh…"  He cleared his throat.  "How 'bout some of that blackberry cobbler, Miss Birdie?"

"I'll be just fine at home by myself," Melinda said.  "Joey will be there with me."

"But Joey cant bring ya ta town if ya get sick or pick ya up if ya fall," Red told her.  He glanced toward Birdie and winked.  He'd play her little game.

Bobby cleared his throat again.  "Scuse me."  And he got up to get some cobbler.

Melinda looked at her lap and played with her napkin.  She wasn't about to start another argument with her sister—especially in front of Bobby.

Joey used his fork to push at the peas on his plate.  It looked like Bobby would _not_ be coming home with them.  Then his frown suddenly turned into a smile.  "Why don't me an' Mama stay here instead of goin' home by arselfs?"

Everyone was silent as they looked at each other.  Birdie was first to speak.  "Well, little mister, I think that's a very good idea."

"'Cept I don't have no clothes here," Joey said.  "Mama would haf ta go git me some."

Bobby sat back down.  "I'd be happy ta take ya home ta git yer belongin's, Melinda."  He sounded relieved that the matter was resolved."

"Well, I have a ton of laundry to do.  And then ironing…"

"Bring it here," Birdie said, "And I'll help ya with it."

Melinda sighed.  "Okay, but I'll just do the dishes first."

"No, no," Birdie insisted.  "Me an' Joey will do the dishes.  Ya'll go ahead before it gets dark."  She leaned close to Red and whispered, "Or maybe they would rather _wait_ 'til dark."

Red chuckled.  "Well, Bobby," his voice boomed, "It sure will be good to have ya back helpin' me.  I like ta killed myself the past few days."

"Good ta _be_ back," Bobby agreed.

The sky was cloudy as Melinda and Bobby left for her house.  "Hope we beat the rain," he said.  Melinda just nodded, and the rest of the trip was wordless.

As they turned down the dirt drive, Melinda dared to ask him about his future.  She only wanted to help him.  "If you had a good lawyer," she asked quietly, "Would you turn yourself in and trust him to get you through the trial?"

Bobby sighed.  "I wondered when you'd ask me about it again."  He stared into the distance for a few moments.  "I don't rightly know, Melinda.  I just don't know if I could do that."

"I know a lawyer," she said.  "He lives in the city.  I met him there when I went to nursing school.  He's one of the very few attorneys in Texas.  I guess the judges usually do all the counseling.  But Mr. Leonard—the attorney—told me once that he was tired of seeing good people hanged for doing a bit of nothing"

"Yeah, Red mentioned your lawyer friend, but I don't know if I can put my life in the hands of someone like that." 

"What about God's hands?" she asked.  "Can you trust _Him_?"

"I think about it," he admitted.  "And I want to.  But it's easier said than done."

"I understand," she said.  "But I can't let myself…"  She stopped.

Bobby leaned toward her.  "I'm sorry—what?"  
She shook her head.  "Nothing."

He 'whoaed' the horses.  "Well, here we are."  He climbed down and offered her his hand.  "I'll just wait here," he said.

She nodded and went inside.  She stopped just inside the door.  Her breaths were short, and her heart pounded.  She almost couldn't believe she was reacting this way.  A few weeks ago she didn't know if she could let herself love again.  But now she knew exactly what she wanted.  She wanted Bobby Lester.  It did not matter that he was on the run.  She wanted to be with him at all cost.  She would help him through the difficult days ahead, whether it meant speaking up for him in court or traveling with him when he decided it was time to move on.  The decision was his, but she would stand by it.

Bobby pulled off his gloves and threw them hard against the wagon floorboard.  He rubbed his face and ran his fingers through his hair as he spun in a half circle.  He paced along side the wagon.  _I wish there was some way_, he thought.  But he could never turn himself in.  He could never risk being imprisoned or hanged.  But yet he knew he could not ask Melinda and Joey to join him in his life on the run.  And now he knew it _was_ time for him to move on, to get away from these feelings.  If he was no longer near Melinda, surely eventually his love for her would disappear.

He shook his head.  _No, no, I can't leave.  I need her.  I love her._

_But does **she** love **you**? _something inside him asked.

_I don't know,_ he answered.  He sighed.  _I should just leave._

He leaned against the wagon wheel.

Melinda gathered her and Joey's clothes and slowly walked down the stairs.  She hit her elbow on the banister.  Reality seemed to sink in along with the pain.  _Bobby has never given you any reason to believe that he has feelings for you,_ she thought.

_You're right,_ she replied to herself.  _I have no idea how he feels about me, but I'll still stand by his decision of whether or not to turn himself in._

_But he could leave at any time,_ her inner self added.  _What if he leaves without you? _

_Then I'll take that chance._

_What about Betty Hoffines? _she asked herself.  She shrugged.  If Bobby was courting Betty, then Melinda would simply be a friend to them both.  She would help them in any way they needed help.

Bobby took the suitcase and the duffel bag from her and tossed them in the wagon.  He lifted her to the platform and climbed in beside her.  He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.  He was very aware that she had moved closer to him after he sat down.  _No, it's my imagination,_ he chided himself.

Melinda stole a look in his direction.  _I wonder if he notices how close I am sitting, _she thought.  _No, I'm sure he doesn't._

Neither of them said anything.  A light rain began to fall just a few minutes into their journey.

"You wanna go back an' wait for it ta quit rainin'?" Bobby asked.

"It's okay," she said.  "It's kind of nice."

"Yeah, it's peaceful.  Isn't it?"  He pulled his glove on tighter.

They passed the creek, still full from the last storm.  Suddenly lightening flashed across the sky, and thunder 'boomed' next to them.  Melinda jumped and grabbed Bobby's arm.  He gasped as his entire being tingled with her touch.  She blushed and let go of his arm.

As they traveled, the sky grew darker.  A few miles from the O'Briens' farm, the rain began to pour.  Bobby quickly directed the team toward a small patch of trees next to the road.  They stopped near a tall oak.  He jumped down and reached for Melinda.  He did not bother with simply offering her a hand this time.  He picked her up at the waist and lifted her from the platform.  She did not object.

He spun on his heels and gently lowered her to the dry ground beneath the tree.  He did not remove his hands, but held her for a moment.  Her pulse quickened.  Was he telling her that he loved her too?

As she moved to push herself further into his embrace, he let her go and turned sharply.   He stepped to the other side of the tree.  Her shoulders dropped.  She looked his way, feeling that she might cry.  He ran a gloved hand through his wet hair.  She could see his muscles ripple under his clinging shirt.  She bit her lip and turned her back to him.  She closed her eyes, and let out the slightest whimper.  She wanted to run away, get as far from him as possible.  She could not control her emotions any longer.  She must either share them with him or simply avoid him until her heart forgot him.

She jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder.  She slowly opened her eyes.

"What's wrong?" Bobby asked from directly behind her.  "Are you scared of the storm?"

She could not speak, so she simply shook her head.  She breathed in and suddenly began to sob uncontrollably.  She _was_ scared—but not of the storm.  She was afraid that she would have to spend the rest of her life without him.

_Tell him_, her inner voice commanded.  _Tell him now._

Bobby placed both his hands on her arms, turned her around, and pulled her close.  He wrapped his arms around her.  The warmth of his embrace seemed to melt her tears away.  When she had stopped crying, he pushed her away slightly and looked into her eyes.  "What is it?"

She pushed her finger against her bottom lip and bit at her fingernail, wondering how he would react to her basically throwing herself at him.  "I, I…"

He glided his hands the full length of her arms and held her hands in his.  "Yes?"

"I have to tell you this, or I will just burst," she said.

Now _his _heartbeat quickened.  "Tell me what?"

She lowered her eyes to the ground.  "I may be making a total fool of myself by saying this.  I know you have been courting Betty Hoffines.  But I cannot keep this from you or myself any longer."  She breathed in deeply.  "Bobby, I love you."

His solemn face brightened into a smile.  He pulled her close again.  "Oh, Melinda," he whispered against her hair, "I had hoped, but I didn't know.  And…"  He lifted her and spun her in circles.  He laughed, quickly sat her back down, and then kissed her on the cheek.  "I'm not courtin' Betty Hoffines.  I've just been fixin' up her house so that she can sell it when her and Doc Stokely get married."

"Doctor Stokely?" Melinda asked.  "Philip and Betty?"  She laughed.  "Oh my, I was so afraid you would tell me that you didn't feel the same about me as I do you," she said.

"Are you kiddin'?" he grinned.  "It didn't take me long to fall fer you.  An' I think I fell for Joey even before that."

She giggled again.  He kissed her lips slowly and tenderly, something he had waited a very long time to do, he thought.  Her heart seemed to leap to her throat.  But then he loosened his embrace and slowly pushed her away.  He shook his head.

"What?" she asked.  She could tell by his change of expression that something was wrong.

He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed.  "I can't…  We can't…"  He dropped his hands to his side and walked passed her.  He stared into the rainy distance.  "I cannot turn myself in," he said matter-of-factly.

"It's okay."  Her voice was soft and caring.  "I won't ask you to."

He turned back toward her.  "But I could never let you live the life I live.  Always on the run.  Constantly lookin' over yer shoulder.  That's no life for a lady or a child.  It's too dangerous."

"I'm willing to take that chance," she said.  I'll go with you anywhere you need to go.  Joey and I can handle it."  She smiled.  "In fact, it sounds rather exciting."

"No."  He shook his head again.  "I can't let you do it.  I'd never forgive myself if somethin' happened to you or Joey."

"Nothing will happen to us," she assured him.  "Everything will be fine."

"But then suppose somethin' happens to _me_," he continued.  "Then you'd be far from yer family an' all alone."

"Bobby, don't talk like that.  Nothing's going to happen.  We'll be fine," she insisted.

"The rain's stopped."

"What?"

"It's stopped rainin'."

"Then I guess we'd better go."  She bit at her thumbnail and started for the wagon.  He followed.

The rest of the trip was void of conversation.  Melinda was heartbroken that Bobby was so set against their relationship.  If he loved her, why did he not want her to be with him?  She did not know he was mentally trying to come up with another solution.

They pulled in front of the O'Brien's house as the newly revealed sun sank behind the western hills.  The rain was now only a dark band on the eastern horizon.

Bobby helped Melinda down form the wagon and then returned to his seat.  "I'll put everything in its proper place," he said.  "I'll set your suitcase inside the front door.  An' then I'm gonna go on home."

She nodded dumbly and walked slowly toward the house.  She sighed an almost sobbing breath, for her throat was extremely tight and sore from crying.  Perhaps by morning, he'd change his mind, she thought.  She closed the door behind her and stood momentarily in the entryway.

Joey stepped around the corner.  "Mama, is Bobby stayin' the night too?" he asked.

Her heart sank even deeper.  "No, honey.  He's going to _his_ home."

"Oh," Joey muttered and ran back to the kitchen where he'd left his toys on the floor.

Birdie, wiping her hands on her apron, passed him, and shuffled toward the door.  "Oh, look," she said.  "You look like a wet kitten.  How 'bout I warm ya up some water for a hot bath?  We'll get ya outa those damp clothes."

Melinda unbuttoned her collar button.  "'Kay."

Birdie stepped closer.  "What's the matter?" she asked.

"Nothin'," Melinda mumbled.  "Ain't nothin' wrong."

Birdie's eye widened.  "_Somethin'_ sure is," she insisted.  "When you let yer schoolbook grammer slip, yer angry or sick or somethin'."  She took Melinda by the arm.  "C'mon.  I'll get ya some coffee, an' you can tell me all about it."

Melinda followed her reluctantly.  "I don't _wanna_ talk about it."  She sat down at the kitchen table.

"Joey," Birdie said, "I've got some new picture books for ya.  They're in the parlor.  Why don't you go look at them?"

His eyes brightened.  "Sure thing, Aunt Birdie."  He skipped from the room.

Birdie sat a steaming mug in front of Melinda.  "Ya want a cookie?"

Melinda shook her head slightly and took a small sip of coffee.

"Now," Birdie said as she sat down beside her sister.  "Why the long face?"

"I said I _don't_ want to talk about it."  She fingered her coffee cup.

"Melinda Diane, you've always been the strong one.  I've always shared my problems with you so that you could help.  This time _I_ want to help _you.  _Now, _please_ tell me what's wrong.  Is it Bobby?"

The older sister closed her eyes, and a single tear rolled down her cheek.  She held her breath in an attempt not to cry, but soon the sobs shook her shoulders.

Birdie leaned against her.  "Go ahead an' cry.  Get it all out."

"We got caught by the rain," Melinda coughed.  "So we stopped at a little grove of trees.  I felt like I was gonna explode.  You were right about me.  I was—am—in love with him.  But I had no idea how he felt about me."

"So you asked him?" Birdie wondered.

She brushed the remaining tears from her eyes and shook her head.  "No, I just told him that I loved him and prayed he'd say them same."

"And he _didn't_?"  Birdie sounded amazed.

"No, he did.  He said he had fallen for me a long time ago."         

"So what's the problem?"

"I had already decided that I wouldn't ask him again to turn himself in.  I was willing to move with him and go anywhere he needed to go to get away from his past—and the authorities even.  But he said that he wouldn't allow me to go.  He pretty much told me we could never be together."

"You're kidding."

"No."  Melinda pushed her coffee cup away.  "I can't understand why, if he loves me, he won't let me go with him."

"He wants to protect you," Birdie said.  "He knows life with him could potentially be dangerous.  He doesn't want you or Joey to get hurt."

"But the pain I'm feeling right now is greater than any harm that could ever come to my physical self."  Her voice cracked.

"I'm so sorry, Melinda.  I'll talk to Red.  Maybe we can come up with an answer.  Or maybe Bobby will think of somethin'.  You go on upstairs, an' I will bring ya that hot water for the bath we talked about.  It'll make ya feel a little better."

Melinda cried herself to sleep that night.  Joey had asked her several times what was wrong, but all she could tell him was that she didn't feel well.


	10. Gone

She opened her eyes long before dawn the next morning.  She wanted just to roll over and go back to sleep—never to face the cruel world again.  But that was not realistic.  She groaned and climbed out of bed.  She felt miserable.  Who knew an aching heart could make the rest of her feel so bad?

She washed her face and brushed out her hair.  Her hands trembled as she pinned up her hair.   It was difficult to button her shirtwaist, so she left the collar undone.  Besides, she really didn't want the pressure around her already tight throat.

The wonderful aroma of coffee seemed to lift her spirits some.  She sat at the kitchen table alone.  She scanned the room.  Something was different about it.  The curtains.  Birdie had put up new curtains.  _I guess I was so preoccupied yesterday that I did not notice them_, she thought.

She got up to examine them, for she could not see the calico's pattern in the dim light of morning.  She noticed Red's boots were gone form beside the door.  He was already outside working, and probably had been for hours.

"I wonder if Bobby's here yet," she said out loud.  She moved the coffeepot to the back of the stove and hurried outside.

"Where am I going?" she asked herself.  "Going out there to see him will just make me feel worse."  But she couldn't help herself.  She shuffled to the corral.  No one was there.  "They must be in the barn," she decided.

Red was piling hay into one of his wagons.  "Good mornin'."

"Hello."  She bent down to pet one of the barn cats.  "Is Bobby here yet?"

"No," Red grunted as he threw a bale of hay.  "But he's supposed to be.  Shoulda been here an hour ago.  I'm sure he'll show up any minute."

She breathed in deeply.  "Oh."

"You all right?" he asked.

She shrugged and said, "I guess so."

"You don't look like ya feel good."

"I'm fine.  Is there anything you need from town?  I'm going to run to the store later."

"Don't think so."

"Okay, then.  I'll talk to you later."  She turned to go.

"Should I tell Bobby you were lookin' him?" Red asked.

"No," she said.  "No need to tell him."

As she made her way back to the house, the sun peeked over the treetops.  She hoped its rays would warm her soul as well as they were already warming the earth.  She stopped again at the corral.  Red and Birdie had a fine new colt.  It belonged to a mare named Katie.  The momma seemed proud of her new baby.  She pushed the colt forward as if to show it off to Melinda.

Melinda smiled in spite of her foul mood.  "Yes, Katie, he's very handsome.  You did a good job."  The horse snorted and walked away.  The colt followed.

"How ya fairin' this mornin'?" a soft voice asked from behind her.            

Melinda turned to see Birdie step out from the shadows.  "Like I've been beat with a horse whip," she blurted before she could stop herself.

"That good, huh?"  Birdie was braiding her hair as she walked.

"I'm sorry.  I shouldn't complain.  I've lived through worse."

"I don't blame ya one bit," Birdie told her.  "If I knew I wouldn't be able to share my life with Red, I'm sure I prob'ly wouldn't be even as chipper as you seem to be."  She tied a bow on the end of the braid and leaned against the fence post.  "Ya know, part of me's glad that Bobby said that he could never take ya on the run.  I'd miss ya too bad, and I'd always be afraid somethin' had happened to ya.  But most of me's sad that ya'll can't be together.  I know that ya'll really do love each other."  She laughed.  "**_I_** knew before either of ya'll did.  So I just wish we could come up with some kinda solution.  I guess what I'd really like ta see is Bobby turn himself in an' some judge declare him innocent.  That's what I been prayin'."

"Yeah," Melinda said.  Silence fell between them.  A bird chirped somewhere in the distance.

"You know what," Melinda said suddenly.  She looked up at the tall pine trees.

"What?" Birdie responded.

"We never celebrated your birthday."

"Oh, don't worry 'bout that," Birdie said.  "We got other things to worry about.  An' anyway, it's long gone.  Yours is comin' up though.  An' so is Joey's.  I can't believe he's almost four."

"Yeah, it's pretty amazing," Melinda agreed.

"Got anything planned yet?" the younger sister asked.

"No, I haven't thought about it."

"Would you care if we gave him one of our colts?" Birdie asked.

Melinda shrugged.  "No, I don't guess so.  I sold ours a few weeks ago.  I never even thought about keeping him for Joey."

"I was thinkin' 'bout givin' him Katie's.  He's mighty beautiful.  Next spring Red could show him how ta break 'im an' everything.  An' Bobby could help."

"I really don't think we should encourage Joey's attachment to Bobby," Melinda said matter-of-factly.  He'd be awfully disappointed if—when—Bobby decides to leave."

"Yeah, I guess yer right."  Birdie turned back toward the house.  "How 'bout some breakfast?"

Red ate quickly and hurried back outside.  Bobby still had not shown up for work.  That meant that Red had to do the late morning chores by himself.

Birdie would not let Melinda help clean up after the morning meal.  The younger sister insisted that Melinda go get herself ready to go to town.

She pinned her hair up in an attractive sweep and secured one of Birdie's Sunday hats with one of their mama's pins.  The hat was much prettier than a bonnet, and today Melinda needed to feel good about herself.

Red already had the team hitched for her, so she kissed Joey goodbye and climbed up in the tall seat.  "Be good," she told her son who was squirming in his aunt's arms.  He wanted to go with her to town.

"Mama will be right back," Birdie told him.  "An' I need you to help me pick strawberries."

His pouting lips formed a smile.  "Okay, I'll help ya."

Melinda clucked to the horses and waved to her family.  As she traveled, she tried to focus her attention on the beautiful landscape.  She needed to get her mind off Bobby.  If ever she was to stop loving him, she first had to stop thinking of him.  She tried to examine the wildflowers from a distance.  Her sight was slightly blurry.  She squinted and mentally reviewed the flowers' names.  _Indian paintbrush,_ she thought,_ black-eyed Susan, Queen Anne's lace, Indian blanket, blue bonnet, and purple cone flowers.  _And then there were some bright yellow blossoms that she did not know.

She passed by a small pond.  She wondered how the small body of water came into being.  Had it always been there?  No, she supposed not.  Perhaps the wind simply blew the soil away and formed a low spot.  Then the rain filled it with water.  _But then where did the fish come from? _she wondered.  _Red said that's a good place to fish.  I bet Bobby would take Joey there to fish some time._  She sighed.  So much for not thinking of Bobby.

_Sing,_ she told herself.  _That will clear your mind.  _So she sang any and every song that came to mind.

When she reached town, she first stopped in at the parsonage to thank Lyla for taking care of Joey for so long.  She would have offered to pay the generous lady, but she knew that money would not be accepted.  She decided to purchase a pretty piece of calico and make her a new bonnet.  With a long summer ahead, a new bonnet would be a welcomed gift.

She moved her wagon to the general store.   When she stepped inside, she was amazed by all the new merchandise Mr. Hudson had received since she had last visited the mercantile.  She poured over beautiful yards of fabric and the selections of new hats.

She made her decisions and carried them to the counter. "Do you have any hat pins?" she asked the storekeeper.  "I'm afraid I'm going to break this old one of my mother's."

He pointed.  "There in the jar on the top shelf next to the hats," he replied.

She squinted to see the glass container across the room.

"Having problems with your eyes?" Mr. Hudson asked.

"Some," she answered as she walked to the shelves.  "Seems the fever settled in my eyes."

"Maybe you should have the doc examine ya for some glasses.  Your sight isn't something to mess around with."

"Do you think I should?" she asked.  "I figured this would go away soon."

"The missus had Ruebella as a child," he told her.  "Settled in her eyes just as yours seemed to have done.  She had to wear glasses the rest of her life."

"Oh, my," Melinda said.  "Maybe you're right.  I'll go over there to the doc's while you wrap my purchases.  Is that okay?"

He nodded as he scribbled her purchases in his ledger.

She congratulated Dr. Stokely on his engagement to Betty and then stated her reason for calling.

"So your vision is continuously blurry?" the doctor asked.

"Yes," she replied.  "Sometimes are worse than others, but I cannot see as well as I used to.  Objects far away are distorted."

He opened a wooden box.  "Try these," he said as he handed her a pair of round-lensed spectacles.

She pushed them on her face.  "Oo, too strong."  She pulled them off and rubbed at her watering eyes.

He gave her another pair.  "These?"

She looked around the room.  "Much better."

The doctor motioned toward the wall and said, "Read me that chart over there."

"E, X, Y, D, M, K…"

"Skip to the bottom line."

"Z, F, L, O, R, Q."

"Very good.  Would you like to see how you look?"

Melinda nodded.  She had never dreamed that one day she would need to wear eyeglasses.  She hoped she didn't look too strange.  No, she supposed she wouldn't.

He handed her a looking glass.  "You still look quite handsome," he said.

"Thank you.  How much for the spectacles?"

"We won't worry about it now," Dr. Stokely said.  "I've gotta get going.  I have a million things that need to be taken care of before the wedding.  Besides, you haven't seen much of your family lately.  You should get back to them—and Bobby."  He smiled.

"I, uh…"  Melinda blushed slightly.  "How did you know?"

"It was obvious when I was at your house while you were ill.  I think it's wonderful.  He probably saved your life, you know.  As you did his."

She nodded and walked toward the door.  "Tell Betty I said 'hello'."

"I will."

"I'll take care of my account today," she said when she reentered the store.  "I know it's been forever since I've been here."

"Your account has been paid in full," he told her.

She looked up from the blue broadcloth she had spotted out of the corner of her eye.  "What?  How?"

"Bobby Lester," Mr. Hudson said.  "He took care of it a few days ago when he was here with Joey."

She smiled.  "That was nice of him.  Okay then.  I will pay for these purchases today instead of charging them to my account."

"That won't be necessary either."  He closed his book.  "You have a six dollar credit _after_ these purchases."

"How is _that_ possible?" she asked.

"Bobby stopped by early this morning," Mr. Hudson explained.  "I wasn't even opened yet, but he said he needed to get some supplies for some trip.  So I let him in.  When he paid for his items, he put ten more dollars against your account."

She coughed and bit her lip.  "He said he was going on a trip?" she asked.

Mr. Hudson nodded.

"Did he say where he was going or when he would be back?"

"He didn't tell me where he was going," the storekeeper said.  "But he made it sound like he was going to be gone a long time.  I wondered if he was even _planning_ on coming back."

She spun on her heels.  "Wrap the items for me…"  She hurried to the door.  "Please.  I'll be back for them later."

She ran as fast as her weakened body would allow down the wooden sidewalk.  She pulled open the boardinghouse door.  She used more force than needed, and it slammed noisily against the wall.

"Miss Staples," she called.  "Miss Staples."

The older lady scampered through the kitchen door.  "What is it?"  She spotted Melinda.  "Oh, howdy young'un.  What can I do for ya?"

Melinda gasped for air.  "Bobby," she huffed.  "Bobby Lester.  Is he here?"  
"No," Miss Staples said.  "Left this mornin'.  Paid his bill an' left.  Don't guess he's comin' back neither.  Ya mean he didn't tell you?"  She could tell by Melinda's anguished look that he had not.

"Do you know _where _he went?" the young lady asked. 

"He didn't say.  An' seein' that it weren't none of my business, I didn't ask."

Melinda was crying by the time she reached her wagon at the store.  All she could do was cry.

Bobby had only been traveling for a few hours, but he was already tired.  He knew it wasn't a physical weariness.  He was emotionally exhausted.  He normally wasn't one to cry.  In fact, he hadn't cried since LeAnna died.  But now he could not seem to avoid tears.  He had cried most of the night.

He had thought long and hard on whether or not to leave Point Blank, leave Melinda.  He told himself that he was a coward, running away from his problems.  If he were a real man, he decided, he would turn himself in, face his fate.

So what if he wasn't a real man, he shrugged.  Better a live coward than a dead hero.  _But you're breaking Melinda's heart,_ his mind told him._  And little Joey's too._

_They will get over it,_ he mentally replied.  _They're strong.  I could **not** bring them with me.  I could never put them in danger.  I'm doin' the right thing.  _But he could not convince himself.

Melinda pushed the team hard, but they seemed to go so slowly.  She decided she could probably run faster herself—and so she did.  When she reached the fence that indicated the O'Brien's property line, she bounded from the wagon and darted across the field.  She'd worry about the horses later.

The sprint across the field was the shortest way to the barn.  She only hoped Red would be nearby, for she did not want to take the time to look for him.  She spied a straw cowboy hat and called for him.  He noticed her waving arms and ran toward her.

"Whatever is the matter?" he shouted.

"It's Bobby!  He's gone!"  She stopped and fell to her knees.

"What do ya mean?  He hasn't been here all mornin'."

"I know," she panted.  "Not gone from _here_, gone from Point Blank, gone on the run again."

"Oh, no," Red said.  "I was hopin' he'd give that up."  He pulled off his hat and squatted next to her.  "Melinda, I'm afraid this is my fault."

She looked at him quizzically.  "What do you mean?"

He sighed.  "A couple a weeks ago, Bobby said somethin' that made me believe that he was interested in courtin' ya.  I told him that I wouldn't allow it as long as he was on the run."  He fiddled with his Stetson.  "But I changed my mind when Birdie told me you were in love with him.  I decided that you deserved to be happy, an' if that meant bein' with Bobby, so be it."

Melinda shook her head.  "It's not your fault," she said.  "He wouldn't have allowed it anyway.  But isn't there something we can do?  Can we get him pardoned or somehow get him proven innocent without him standing trial?"

"I doubt it," Red said, "Unless the girl's pa fesses up an' tells the truth."

She stood to her feet.  "Will you go with me to find Bobby then?  I have to stop him."

Red looked up at her.  "Do you know where he went?"

She dropped her gaze back to the ground and shook her head.

"Melinda," Red said softly, "He probably has a several hours head start.  An' we don't have any clue where he woulda gone."  He stood up.  "I don't think we'd really be able to find him."

"So I have to just sit by and do _nothing_?  How do I…  What do I tell Joey when he starts asking where Bobby went?  First his daddy went away and now this."  She broke into tears again.

Red touched her arm.  "I'm sorry.  Really I am.  I'd help you find him if I could.  But there's no way.  Why don't you go on to the house an' get some coffee?  Where's your team?  I'll go take care of them."

She pointed to the north.  "On the road past the field."

He stepped in that direction.  "Go on.  Some coffee'll calm ya down a bit."

She slowly walked across the grassy knoll.  She didn't want coffee.  She wanted Bobby.  But Red was right.  There was nothing they could do.


	11. Trial

Bobby Lester stopped at a small town.  He actually wanted to avoid people, but his horse was acting like he had a problem with his foot—a pebble in his shoe perhaps.  _I'll get it taken care of an' then get outa here_, he told himself.  He didn't want to take a chance of being spotted by a lawman.

He sat outside the livery while the shoe was being worked on.  Little did he know that he _had _been spotted.  But not by a lawman.  A heavy-set gentleman followed him out of town.

Bobby was much too absorbed in his sorrow to pay any attention to the lone horse and rider some distance behind him.  He trudged along, not knowing exactly where he was going.  He just knew that he had to head West.  He must travel away from his trouble with LeAnna _and _away from Melinda.  He did not stop again until dusk.

He built a fire in the darkness of twilight.  After dinner, he tried to sleep, but something kept him awake.  That something was not a noise or strange fear.  It was simply a feeling, a feeling that he needed to stay awake.  So he spent the night thinking of Melinda.  At the earliest light of dawn, he covered the campfire over with dirt continued his westward trek.  Surprisingly, he wasn't at all sleepy.  And he wasn't half as weary as he had been the day before.

He knew that the further he traveled, the more arid the terrain would become.  The plush fields of grass and tall pine trees soon yielded an occasional rocky hillside.  Another few days, or perhaps a week, of travel, and he would reach the mountains.  He would stay in the mountains for awhile, he decided, maybe even find himself another job.  Surely no one would follow him that far.  Surely he would be safe.

The sun was hot upon his shoulders.  He chose to take a little break.  He directed his stallion to a large tree near a rocky hill.  He dismounted and unpacked some jerky for his lunch.  He held it in his hand momentarily and then reluctantly took a bite.  He was already missing Birdie's cooking.  He sat down beneath the tree and leaned against the trunk.

His horse snorted loudly.  "Okay, pal," Bobby said, "We'll get ya some water real soon-like.  Surely there's a pond or stream 'round here somewhere."  He bit off another piece of jerky.  The horse stomped and snorted again.  Bobby looked up.  "What is it, boy?"  He glanced around.  He saw nothing wrong, so he continued his lunch.

A single stone rolled down the nearby hillside and stopped next to his boot.  He gazed up the embankment.  Nothing.  His horse fidgeted and stomped.  "Okay, I got ya, big guy."  He stood to his feet and swung himself up into the saddle.  "Let's go, then."  

Suddenly several larger stones plummeted down the slope.  Bobby turned to look.  There was a person there!  Someone was falling down the hill!

He bounded from his horse as quickly as he had mounted and ran to help.  He clumsily climbed up the shifting ground.  The falling man stopped abruptly on the other side of a boulder.  Bobby hurriedly tripped around the enormous rock.  He had to help this person.  The body lay still.  Was he dead?  No, he was breathing.  Bobby knelt beside the lifeless form.  The man's shirt was covered with blood.  He carefully turned him over.

Bobby gasped.  "Mr. Bledsoe?"  No, surely it wasn't.

The man began to cough and wheeze.   He slowly opened his eyes.  Though his voice was weak and gruff, he cursed vehemently.

"Are you okay?" Bobby asked him.

"Shoulda took you out last night," the man sputtered.  Bobby was now sure that it _was_ Mr. Bledsoe.

"What's the meanin' of this?" Bobby asked.

"Had you in my sight last night," Bledsoe coughed.  "Shoulda killed you then, but you never went to sleep." 

No, he hadn't slept.

"We need ta get you to a doctor," Bobby said.  "Where's yer horse?"

"Let me die!" Bledsoe barked.

"I will not," Bobby said.  "Where's yer horse?"

The man responded only with a cough.  Bobby climbed to the top of the hill.  The horse was on the other side.  He slid down the slope and led the gelding to the other side of the hill to his own horse.  He retrieved Mr. Bledsoe's unconscious body and slowly folded him over the saddle.

Now—where should he go?  It was a day's ride back to the small town where he had had his horse's shoe fixed.  He didn't think Mr. Bledsoe could last that long.  He let his eyes scan the area for some sign of civilization.  "Smoke!" he said out loud.  On the western horizon, a thin wisp of white smoke snaked its way toward heaven.  "Where's there's smoke, there's fire.  And where there's fire, there's hopefully people."

He slowly led Bledsoe's horse toward the smoke.  Its source was a small ranch house.  Bobby tied the horses to the gate and hurried toward the wooden porch.  He knocked loudly.  An older woman answered.

"Can you help me?" Bobby asked.

"What's the problem?" she questioned back.

He pointed toward the horses.  "This man fell on the rocks and hurt himself."

"Oh, my, yes," she clucked.  "Bring 'im on in."

Mr. Bledsoe's size made it difficult, but Bobby managed to get him through the small door.  He laid him on a bed in the corner of the room.

The lady set to work on him immediately.  She cleaned his wounds and examined him thoroughly.  "Doesn't look good," she told Bobby.  "Some broken ribs.  I'm afraid he might be bleedin' inside.  You his friend?"

Bobby slowly shook his head.  "Not exactly."

"He your pa?"

"No.  An enemy, you might say."

She looked up at the young man.  "_You_ push 'im down the mountain?"

"No, never!" Bobby was quick to reply.

"Then what happened?" she asked as if she had every right to know.

Bobby chose his words carefully.  "He was lookin' for me, an' he just fell.  I guess the rocks gave way or somethin'."

"Well, if he's an' enemy of yours," the woman continued her probing, "then why'd ya bring 'im here fer help?  Why didn't ya let 'im die?"

"I couldn't do that," Bobby said.  "He's a person, just like you an' me."

"What's yer name?"

"Bobby.  Bobby Lester."

"Hmm," she said as she wrapped Mr. Bledsoe's head.  "Yer name sounds familiar.  An' _he looks _familiar.  You two from around these parts?"  
"No."  Bobby shook his head.  "We're both from the East."  He thought he'd better leave it at that.

"Well, tell ya what," the lady said, "My husband'll be back this evenin'.  You stay for supper.  An' Harold will decide whether or not this guy needs to be taken to town for a doctor.  It's a long ride ta town, ya know."

Bobby tipped his hat.  "I'm much obliged at yer offer, ma'am, but I really need to get goin'."  He stopped.  Did he really need to get going?  The reason he was _on _the run was lying in that bed beside him.

"Aw, you can stay fer supper," she said.  "How long has it been since ya had a home cooked meal?"

"Not really that long," he admitted, "But I guess I'd better stay with Mr. Bledsoe."

"That's right.  Now, you watch 'im while I go get the dinner on."  She stood and started to walk to the next small room.

The lady's husband, Mr. Williams came home just as she was finishing up with dinner.  Mr. Bledsoe still had not awoke again.  Of course, Mr. Williams had many questions for Bobby, each which the young man tried to answer honestly without revealing too much information about the situation.  But at the dinner table, Mr. Williams got extremely close to the entire truth.

"You say that man, Mr. Bledsoe was lookin' for you?" Mr. Williams asked.

Bobby looked at him timidly and slowly nodded.

"Have you done somethin' wrong to him that he'd be followin' you all day from town?"

"Well," Bobby hesitated.  "Not exactly."

The older man slurped his soup.  "How'd you make him your enemy then?"

"It's a long story," Bobby said, "An' one I don't like sharin'."

"Maybe you should share it with me," Mr. Williams suggested.  "If you don't, I'll still figure it out.  You see, I suppose one of you is an outlaw.  Maybe both.  I think I've seen Mr. Bledsoe's mug before.  And you look rather familiar to me too.  Could it be that I've seen you at the post office?"  He shrugged.  "It's only a matter of time until I remember."

Bobby suspected something himself.  "You a lawman?"

Mr. Williams smiled.  "You could say that.  I actually retired from the judge's seat just last month.  Ever heard of hangin' Judge Williams?"

Bobby's eyes widened.  Hanging Judge Williams?  It seemed his days of running had now come to an abrupt stop.  It looked like his _life_ may come to a stop as well.  "Can't say I've heard of ya," he muttered.

"I'm a little hurt by that," he chuckled.  "Thought everybody in these parts knew me."

"I'm not from these parts," Bobby reminded him.

"So how 'bout it?" the judge asked.  "Tell me your story?"

The young man sighed.  "Fine."  He pushed away his bowl of soup.  "I was workin' on a ranch outside a small town in the east part of the state.  I kinda fell for a girl named LeAnna Bledsoe."

Mr. Williams pointed toward the bedroom.  "Mr. Bledsoe's daughter I presume."

"Yep," Bobby agreed.  "They were a well-to-do family.  Big wealthy landowners.  That's plantation country out there ya know."

The judge nodded.

"I think LeAnna was afraid that her pa wouldn't like me," Bobby went on.  He told the painful story, stopping many times to clear his throat and once to choke back a single tear.

"Yes, yes," Mr. Williams said when Bobby had finished.  "I knew I had seen you before.  Those wanted posters always seem to stick in my mind.  But that doesn't explain why Bledsoe looks so familiar."

"What are ya gonna do with me?" Bobby asked.

"Do with ya?" the judge repeated.  "Well, that all depends.  You don't sound like you're lyin'.  I can usually spot a liar from a mile away.  And it's your word against his.  Lets see what he has to say about it when he wakes up."

"An' if he doesn't wake up?" the young man wondered.

"Then I guess I'll have to make a decision whether or not to turn you in.  We'll just wait and see.  But I _am_ going to have to ask ya to sleep here tonight.  I can't let you go until I hear from Bledsoe.  You can just make yourself a pallet on the floor next to the old man."

Some time in the middle of the night, Bobby awoke.  He'd been dreaming about LeAnna.  He assumed that all the talk about the shooting had triggered the nightmares.  When he finally fell asleep again, his dreams became more intense, more frightful.  But this time it was Melinda, not LeAnna, who died.  He awoke in a cold sweat.  Something was wrong with Melinda.  He was sure there was something wrong.  He needed to get back to Point Blank, but he knew he could not leave.  It would make him appear guilty.

Melinda sat rocking in her grandmother's rocking chair.  It was cushioned with pillows her mother had made.  The only time she got to enjoy its comfort was when she was at her sister's house.  She definitely needed some comfort right now.  She had been awake all night.  She was miserable.  She hadn't eaten all day for thinking about Bobby, and her head ached.  Her mind and her good sense told her to stop feeling sorry for herself and get over him; he'd never be back.  But then her heart, the voice she chose to listen to, told her he loved her and would return.  She began to cry again, but breathed in deeply to stop the tears.  She had always tried to be so strong.  She had allowed herself the liberty of crying only one night when John died.  Surely his death was more tragic than Bobby's departure.  Therefore, she would not cry anymore, she decided.

She stood and pulled her robe tightly about her.  She needed to do something to get her mind off of him.  She could take a walk.  The wonderful summer night's sights and sounds would raise her spirits.

As she quietly closed the door behind her, an owl hooted somewhere in the distance.  She shivered at the eerie sound.  She looked up.  The stars were bright, and she stood and watched them twinkle.  They were so beautiful, she thought.  The wind blew slightly and caused a wisp of hair to play about her face.  She brushed it away absent-mindedly.

She wondered if the horses were awake.  She wanted to take another look at the colt Birdie and Red were going to give to Joey.  She climbed over the corral fence.  She wasn't sure if Red put all the horses up at night.  She may have to go to the stable to visit them.

In the slight moonlight, a movement caught her attention.  She peered into the darkness, but she saw nothing more.  _Whatever it was is gone now, _she told herself, and she continued her trek toward the stable.

She scanned the area as she walked.  Katie and her baby could be anywhere.  She gasped.  Suddenly there was a figure before her.  She stopped in her tracks.  She knew immediately what it was.  The cougar let out a blood-curling scream.  Her first instinct was to run, but she knew better.  She stood as still as possible, for her entire being trembled with fear.

_What do I do?_

The cougar pranced from side to side, watching her.  Slowly it came closer.  She heard a twig snap behind her.  Was there more than one cat?  Was she surrounded?  A new fear gripped her heart.  She fixed her eyes on the mountain lion and breathed slowly.  The animal licked its lips and crouched down, ready to pounce.

As the cougar leaped toward her, a large figure rushed past her.  It was Katie.  She was charging the cat!  On contact, the cougar yelped in pain.  It fell to the ground but was soon up, ready to fight.

Running now did not even enter Melinda's mind.  She was frozen there, just a few feet from the battle.  She could not believe her eyes.

Katie bucked and stomped.  The lion clawed and snapped it jaws.Both animals seemed determined to win out.  Suddenly, the cougar leaped for the horse.  Katie lost her balance and almost fell as Melinda watched in horror.  The mare regained her footing and once again charged the cat.  When it was down, Katie reared on her hind legs and came down on the cougar's head and back.  A sickening snap told Melinda that the lion had lost the fight.  It let out one last cry and then fell to silence.

The horse snorted with each breath.  It had taken a lot out of her to defend herself against the large cat.  She stared at its lifeless form, perhaps, Melinda thought, waiting for another go-round.  Katie slowly walked toward the cougar.  She sniffed, turned, and looked at Melinda.  Then she broke into a run across the dark field.

Though Melinda had wanted to see the colt, she dared not follow.  She, too, sprinted across the grass, but in the other direction—back to the house.  She was still frightened and constantly checked her back as she ran.

Before entering the house, she glanced behind her once more.  Without looking ahead, she took a step forward and ran right into Red who was coming out for the early morning chores.  She gasped and let out a slight scream.

Red stopped her and took hold of her arms.  "What's wrong?" he asked her.

"I… it… she…" she panted.  She wheezed and coughed noisily.

"Why are you out here?" Red asked again.  "Why were you runnin'?  What's the matter?"

Melinda coughed again, and this time she could not find her voice.  She felt lightheaded, as if she might faint.  So she simply sank down to her knees on the cool ground.

Red knelt also, still holding her wrists.  "Melinda, what's wrong?"

She breathed in a few more times to clear her head.  "Cougar," she said.

"Where?  Followin' you?"  He peered into the darkness.

Melinda shook her head.  "No.  Katie fought it.  She killed it."

"_Katie _did?"

"Yes, she saved my life.  I was just going for a walk, and there it was.  I knew not to run, so I stood there.  Right as the cougar jumped toward me, Katie hit it and knocked it down.  Then they fought, and she killed it."

"Where?" Red asked.

She pointed.  "On the other side of the corral."

"And is Katie okay?"

"Yes," she replied.  "She seemed fine.  She may have a few cuts and bruises, though."

"I'll go check her out," Red said.  "You go inside an' get calmed down."  They both stood, and Red walked her to the door.  "There's coffee on the stove."

Melinda slid into a kitchen chair.  She was still shaky, and her head pounded with each heartbeat.  She put her hands over her face and cried.

Bobby paced the wooden floor of the small bedroom.  The sky outside was beginning to lighten.  Soon the sun would make its way over the eastern hills.  Surely the judge would be up soon.  Somehow he would have to convince Mr. Williams into letting him leave.  He had to get to Melinda.  He felt that she was out of danger now, but she still needed him, needed his comfort.

Bobby heard footsteps outside the door.  Mr. Williams stepped inside the room.  "Breakfast'll be ready in a bit.  I got to go out an' milk the cows.  You can stay here or go with me."

"Actually," Bobby began.  How would he ask the judge if he could leave?

"Hold on," Williams said.  He started toward the bed.  "Looks like Mr. Bledsoe is comin' around."

Bledsoe groaned and slowly shook his head.  He opened his eyes.  "Where am I?" he growled.

"In a bed," the judge replied shortly.

"Where's that Bobby Lester?" Bledsoe added.

Mr. Williams held up a hand telling Bobby not to talk.  "Why do ya want to know?" the judge asked.

"'Cause I'm gonna kill 'im!"  Bledsoe struggled to sit up but winced in pain and collapsed back down to the pillow.

"Why do ya want to kill him?" the judge quizzed him.

"He killed my daughter!"

The judge stepped closer to the bed.  "He says _you _killed her."

"Why, that no good…"  Bledsoe reached toward Mr. Williams.  "Liar!  He's a liar!"

"No, I don't think he is," the judge said.  "Why don't you just let him go?  Then you'd both be free of it.  You only shot your daughter accidentally, right?"

Bledsoe relaxed and seemed to ponder the question.  He suddenly jerked his head to one side.  "No!  I didn't do it!  He did it!  He killed her!"  He breathed in deeply and made a horrible face.  Bobby could tell he was in a lot of pain.

"So you're going to kill him?" Mr. Williams asked.  "Instead of lettin' the law take care of him?"

"The law?" Bledsoe mocked.  "The law _won't_ take care of it!  The law is just as bad as him!"

"What makes you say that?"  
"They're just a bunch of…  I'd kill them all too!"

Judge Williams smiled.  Bobby watched his face.  It appeared the old man had suddenly been enlightened of something.  "You care for a game of cards, Mr. Bledsoe?" he asked.

"Cards?"  A dark shadow fell across Bledsoe's face.  He stared at Mr. Williams for a moment.  Bobby thought he saw a flicker of fear in Bledsoe's eyes.  What kind of game was the judge playing with him?  What did the judge know that Bobby did not?"

"Sure," Williams said.  "You play, don't you?'

Bledsoe acted as if he didn't know how to reply.  "I play some," he finally said.

"Play enough to place some high stakes?"

"Depends on what those stakes are."

The judge rubbed at his beard.  "If you win, I let you take a shot at Bobby and let you stay here until you heal."

Bobby listened in disbelief.  _Take a shot at me?!_

"And if _you _win?" Bledsoe asked.

"If I win," Williams said, "You let Bobby go and clear his name with the law."

"Fine," Bledsoe grumbled.

Bobby watched as the judge pulled the deck of cards from his pocket.  Everything seemed to move in slow motion.  Williams took a seat in the corner of the room and moved the lamp table between him and Bledsoe.  Bobby hoped the judge knew what he was doing.  Otherwise, they _both _may be running for their lives.  The judge turned his chair around backwards and straddled it.  He began shuffling the cards.

"I'll do that," Bledsoe snipped and grabbed for the cards.  He examined them carefully.  Bobby assumed he was looking to see if they were marked.  He then shuffled, cut, and dealt them like a pro.

_Sure ain't hidin' his skill none,_ Bobby thought.

The judge slowly picked up his hand.  His face remained emotionless, but Bobby thought he saw a slight twinkle in his eye.

Bledsoe reviewed his cards, coughed, wheezed, and then grimaced.  Bobby knew that the man's pain was intense, but he hoped part of the ugly face he made was due to a bad hand as well.

"We've already set the openin' bid," Williams said.  "I'll let you decide what you want to do from here."

"I'll take two," Bledsoe said.  He replaced two of his cards.  "What about you?"

Mr. Williams shrugged.  "I think I'll raise ya."

"Raise me?" Bledsoe asked.  "What d'ya have in mind?  Stakes're already pretty high."

"If you lose, you turn yourself in," the judge said.

"Turn myself in?" Bledsoe grumbled.  "For what?  You said I'd be free since it was an accident."

"Well," the judge said, "Was it an accident when you killed a Texas Ranger?"

"I don't know what the hell yer talkin' about."  Bledsoe looked him square in the eye.

"Oh, I think ya do.  I remembered where I've seen ya before."

"Where?"

"You are wanted for the murder of officer John Warren."

Bobby gasped.  Mr. Bledsoe had killed Melinda's husband?  He listened more intently.

"But I'm willin' to let ya go if ya win," Williams added.

Bledsoe looked at his hand and then looked back at the judge.  "You ain't gonna take no cards?"

"Don't need to," Williams said.  "I'll go with what I've got."

"Yer bluffin'," the wounded man growled.

"Maybe.  Maybe not.  Are ya gonna take my bet or not?'

"Alright."

Bobby breathed in deeply.  If Judge Williams won, he would not only be free to go back to Point Blank, but also carry news to Melinda that her husband's murderer was in jail.  He ran a shaky hand across his face and stared wide-eyed at the judge.

Bledsoe sniffed.  "No one saw me kill 'im anyway.  You got no proof that I did it."

"So you'll take the bet?" Williams asked again.

"Yes."

"Then I call."

Bledsoe fanned his cards out on the table.  "Three aces.  I win"

The judge held up a hand.  "Not so fast."  He smiled.  "Looks like we'll be takin' a ride into town today."  He laid his cards face up.  "A straight flush."

Bledsoe leaned closer to the table.  "How'd you do that?  You must've cheated!  The cards _are_ marked!"  He coughed, and blood streamed from his mouth.

"We need to get you to a doctor," the judge said.  "Bobby, you stay here with him, and I'll go hitch up the team."

"Just let me die," Bledsoe sputtered.

"I don't think so," Mr. Williams said as he closed the door behind him.

"_You_ did all this," Bledsoe told Bobby.

"Me?" Bobby asked.  "How?'

The wounded man coughed up more blood.  He gasped for air and sank down on the pillow. "Tell that Williams to hurry up."  Blood dripped from his chin as he spoke.

Bobby turned and walked to the window.  He stood there for a few moments recalling his dream from the night before.  He wanted to get on the road home.  He saw the judge walking toward the house, so he shook the thoughts clear from his mind.

"Here comes Mr. Williams," he told Bledsoe.  No response.  He looked toward the bed in the corner.  _Bledsoe must have fallen asleep._

The judge opened the bedroom door.  "All ready.  Bobby, will you help me get him the wagon?"

"Sure."

Williams pulled the blanket back from Bledsoe's torn body.  Bobby stepped to his side.  "I can get 'im myself iffen you'll just get the door for me."

"That won't be necessary," the judge said.

"I don't mind," Bobby insisted.

"No," Williams said.  "I mean we don't need to carry him to the wagon.  He's dead."

"Oh," was all that Bobby could manage.  He cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes.  "What's that mean to me?" he asked the judge.

Williams waved his hand.  "You're free to go.  I'll tell the proper authorities that you are clear.  Bledsoe all but confessed that he killed his daughter.  And he _did_ confess to John Warren's murder."

"I know officer Warren's widow," Bobby said.

The judge looked up at him.  "You do?  Well, give her my regards.  Jonathan Warrenwas a fine man and one of the best officers."

"I'll do that."

"Will you help me bury Bledsoe's body?" Williams asked.  "And then you can be on your way."


	12. Joey's Surprise

Bobby thanked Mr. Williams for all his help and then saddled his horse.  The judge's wife wanted him to stay for the midday meal, but he did not want to waste any more time.  He wanted to get back to Melinda.  He wondered, however, if she would even _have_ him back.  His worried grew as he prepared for his trek.

Mrs. Williams gave him a bag of victuals and a jug of water.  "You take care," she told him.

He mounted his horse, thanked the couple again, and rode out into the dusty late morning heat.  As he traveled eastward, he stewed on his previous thought.  _What if Melinda won't have me back?  I wouldn't blame her—me up an' leavin' without even sayin' goodbye.  Guess I'll just have to prepare for the worst._

He reached the small town mid-afternoon.  "Should I go all the way home tonight?" he asked himself.  He shrugged.  "I wouldn't be able to see Melinda 'til mornin' anyway.  Everyone'd be in bed by the time I got there."  He directed his horse toward the small hotel.  He'd get a good night's sleep and clean up before continuing his journey.  "No need lookin' like a wild man on my homecomin'."

He lodged his horse and checked in at the hotel.  He unpacked his few belonging from his saddlebag.  _If Melinda will have me,_ he thought, _I want to get married as soon as possible.  I can't wait to be a permanent member of that family.  They've all been so good to me._

But then Red's words came back to him.  _You know I could never let you court Melinda if…  _What if Red would not let him marry her?  What if Red held a grudge against him for leaving?  This new thought was almost as troubling as the first.

_Maybe I should wire Red ahead of time,_ he decided.  _I could tell him to meet me in town.  If he didn't show up, I'd know that he was angry with me.  Better yet, I could tell him that I wanted to surprise Melinda.  He could bring her to town with him._

He hurried to bathe and change his clothes.  After he sent the wire, he would purchase himself a new outfit for his wedding.

Melinda was weeding Birdie's garden when a horse trotted up the dirt road.  Her first thought was that it was Bobby.  But as it grew nearer, she could see that it was not him.  It was Johnson, a stable hand from town.  He asked for Red, and Melinda pointed him in the right direction.  She suspected nothing, for local men came to see Red quite often to buy horses and calves and what not.  She continued hoeing out the chickweed and dandelions.

Red relayed Bobby's plan to Birdie that night.  Red was quite excited when Johnson brought him the urgent telegram. 

Birdie read it out loud.  "Arrest warrant gone.  Bring Melinda to church tomorrow noon."  She paused.  "Do you think he's gonna ask her to marry him?"

"That's sure what it sounds like," Red said.

"Well, then can I go an' maybe hide in the wagon or somethin'?" she asked.  "I wouldn't want to miss their weddin'."

"I don't see what it would hurt for you to go with us.  Sure would be less conspicuous if all of us went 'stead of just me an' her."

Birdie grinned from ear to ear.  It was settled.

Red took a gulp of his breakfast coffee and announced, "I'm finally caught up on my work, so I declare today family day.  I figured we could go to town an' shop fer anything special ya'll might be wantin' and then have lunch at the hotel.  How does that sound?"

Birdie was first to speak up.  "Sounds good to me," and she handed Joey a piece of toast.

Joey took the bread.  "Yeah, sounds good ta me too.  Can we get some lemon drops?"        "I don't see why not," Red told him, "if it's okay with yer momma."

"Is it okay, Mama?" Joey asked.

Melinda did not reply.  She was busy staring into nothingness.  She lifted her cup to her lips but did not drink.

"Wha's wrong wif Mama?" Joey whispered to his aunt.

"She's just thinkin' prob'ly," Birdie said softly.  "Melinda?"

Joey's momma looked toward her sister.  "I'm sorry.  Did you say something, Birdie?"

"Joey wants to know if he can get some candy when we go to town," Birdie told her.

"You all are going to town?" Melinda asked.

"We _all_ are, Mama," Joey said.  "Weren't you lis'nin'?"

"No, honey, I'm afraid I wasn't listening.  But I don't care to go to town today.  You all go without me."

Red and Birdie looked at each other.  They had not thought about the possibility of Melinda not wanting to go to town with them.  Now what would they do?  Birdie tried to convince her, but still she refused.

"I'll buy you a new hat," Red added.  Surely no woman would forego the gift of a new hat, he decided.

But Melinda insisted that she stay at the farm.  So Red, Birdie, and Joey set off to town without her.

"If she won't go to Bobby an' the preacher," Red quietly told his wife, "Then we'll just have to bring Bobby an' the preacher to her."

Joey leaned on Birdie's arm as they traveled.  "Is my momma gonna be sad forever?" he asked.

"What?" the aunt replied.

"I'm sad too 'cause Bobby left," he said, "But I play with my toys an' books, an' they make me feel better.  Maybe we should buy Mommy a toy or book."

Red chuckled heartily, and Birdie grinned.  That didn't sound like such a bad idea.  "What kinda toy?" Red asked.

"Ummm… uh… How 'bout one of those wood checkerboards that Mr. File makes?"

"Okay," the uncle agreed.  "We'll stop at Mr. File's house and get one."

Joey talked the rest of the way to town, pointing out flowers and insects and the hawk birds that Bobby had introduced him to.  When they reached the general store, the boy placed his hand on Birdie's knee.  "Can we buy Mommy a new friend?"

Birdie looked at him quizzically.  "What do you mean?"

"Bobby was Mama's friend," the boy said.  "Since he moved away, she's been sad.  If she had a new friend, maybe she'd be happy 'gin.  _And_ I could have a new daddy."

Birdie's eyes grew wide as she turned to Red to find out what to say.  He shrugged, telling her that he didn't know, so she simply changed the subject.  She lifted him down from the wagon.  "Let's go get yer momma a new purse too.  Okay?"

"Okay.  I'll pick it out."

Red piled his selections of leathers, rings, and tanning oils on the counter while Birdie decided what supplies she needed for the kitchen.  Joey examined every detail of each purse hanging on the pegs above him.  After he had chosen, he walked with his Aunt Birdie to Mr. File's house.  And Red headed for Pastor Smith's.  It was only eleven thirty, and he wasn't to meet Bobby until noon.

Pastor Smith answered the door with, "Is Bobby already here?"  Apparently the young cowboy had wired the preacher too, Red decided.

"No, not yet."

"Where's Melinda?"  Brother Smith's eyes scanned the area behind Red.

"That's what I needed ta talk to ya about," Red told him.  "She wouldn't come.  So do you mind comin' ta my place after we meet Bobby?  We'll have ta have the weddin' there."

"Good idea," the preacher agreed.  "I can't wait to see the look on Melinda's face.  What a surprise!  What a surprise indeed."

Bobby reached Point Blank's hotel a little before twelve.  He had timed his travel perfectly.  He would wash up quickly, change clothes, and then make a dash for the church.

_I sure hope Red an' Melinda show,_ he thought as he lathered the lye soap between his hands.  He examined himself in the looking glass.  _Good thing I shaved last night.  I don't have time to do it now._

When he finished cleaning up, he pulled out his pocket watch.  Time to go.  He all but ran downstairs and out the door.  His heart raced—from the exercise or the excitement he did not know.  But then it sank when he saw Red and the pastor standing on the church house steps alone.

Where was Melinda?  Was she inside the church?  Or did she not come?  Did Red tell her the plan and she refuse?  He ran faster.  He stopped in front of the two men, the questions in his eyes.

"Small problem," Red told him.  "Melinda wouldn't come ta town."

"Did ya tell her I would be here?" Bobby asked.

"Nope," Red replied.  "I didn't really know yer plans.  I _assumed_ there'd be a weddin', but I wasn't sure.  I just tried to get her ta come on the pretense of buyin' 'er a new hat.  Didn't work."

"So," Pastor Smith added, "_We're_ gonna go to _her_."

"You think she'll marry me?" Bobby asked.

"Are you kiddin'?" Red laughed.  "She's been lost without you."

"Bobby!  Bobby!  Yer back!"   It was Joey shouting and running toward them.  Birdie jogged to keep up.  Bobby scooped him up and held him close.  Joey hugged him tightly.  "You got a new hat," Joey observed.

"Ya wanna wear it?" Bobby asked.

The little boy nodded wildly.  Bobby lowered him to the ground and placed the grey Stetson atop Joey's curly hair.  "Does my momma know yer home?"

"No," Bobby replied.  "But we're goin' ta see her in a few minutes."  Bobby told the small group of people the happenings of the past few days since he left Point Blank.

"Let's s'prise Mommy," Joey cut in.

"Yes, sir!" Bobby laughed.  "You wanna ride with me, little buddy?"  Joey nodded again, causing the over-sized hat to fall down over his eyes.  Bobby pulled it up for him.  "Let's go then."  He turned to Red.  "See ya at the farm."

Bobby had to control his desire to push his horse faster.  It would be unsafe to run the stallion with little Joey behind the reigns.  In addition, Red, Birdie, and Bro. Smith needed to arrive at the house before he did.

Melinda set to work picking vegetables from the garden.  She was in the mood to cook.  She planned to make an elaborate meal for the family.  The preparations would take care of the day's idle time as well as get her mind off of Bobby.

The green onions were a nice size, and their aroma made her stomach rumble.  She recalled that she had not eaten any breakfast that morning nor supper the evening before.  She peeled the skin off the onion, snapped off the roots, and bit into it.  It tasted good—not too hot and a little on the sweet side.

She raised her head and gazed toward the north.  Red's wagon was coming.  _Did they cut their trip short because I refused to go with them?_ she wondered.

She stood to her feet and wiped as much dirt from her hands as possible.  Her skirt was covered in soil as well.  _Good thing I have on my own skirt today instead of Birdie's,_ she thought.  She hated to ruin her sister's clothes.  _If I'm going to stay here any longer, I'm going to need to go home and get some more clothes.  _Suddenly she had a strong desire to go home.  She wanted to be by herself, alone in her grief.  She wanted away from the bustle of the farm.

As she walked back to the house, the wind gusted, and her hair tumbled about her shoulders.  She'd been too preoccupied that morning to pin it securely.  She shrugged, and with her free hand, pushed an unruly lock away form her face.  In doing so, she smeared dirt on her forehead.

She pushed open the back door, tossed her basket of produce on the table, and collapsed into a chair.  She supposed she should put on a happy face for Joey's sake.  She sighed, practiced her fake smile, and stood.  She walked to the water pump, and filled a bucket in which to wash the vegetables.

She waited for the sound of footsteps at the door, but none came.  What could be taking them so long?  She _was_ a little excited to see what new things Joey and Birdie had come home with.  And she would like to steal a handful of lemon drops as well.

When all the produce was thoroughly washed, she scraped the carrots.  Still her family had not entered the house.  Was something wrong?  She placed the knife on the table, pushed her new eyeglasses on her face, and headed for the barn.

Now the wind was blowing strongly.  It was a chore to keep her long hair out of the way.  A few times she had to stop, for she could not see where she was going.  She entered the barn and scanned the empty stalls.  No sign of them.  Then she heard voices outside.  She followed the sound.  Red and Birdie were sitting by the stables on a bench that Red had made last summer.

"Nice of you to join us," Birdie told her older sister.

"What do you mean?  And where's Joey?"   She looked around the yard.

"Joey?" Birdie repeated.  "Oops, I don't have him.  Red, I thought _you _had Joey.  Where could he be?"

Red shrugged.  "Don't know.  Maybe we left him in town."  They both laughed.

"That's not funny," Melinda snapped.  "Where is he?"

"I'm over here, Mama," a quiet voice said.

She turned in that direction.  "_Where, Joey?"  
"Over here, 'round the corner of the barn.  Com'ere."_

Red and Birdie smiled at each other.  Birdie bit her lip.  She could not wait for Melinda's reaction when she found Joey and Bobby.

"Joey?" Melinda called again.

"Here, Mama."

When Melinda had disappeared around the corner of the building, Pastor Smith joined Red and Birdie.  He held his Bible in front of him, prepared for the ceremony.  "Joey?" they heard again.  And then Melinda screamed.

"She found 'im," Red chuckled.  "Bet everyone in town heard her holler."

Melinda stood motionless, fairly dumbfounded.  Was it true?  Was Bobby really there in front of her?  She blinked, expecting him to vanish any second.  She tried to say something, anything, but her tongue was tied.

Bobby lifted Joey down from his shoulders and placed his cowboy hat back on the little one's head.  "How 'bout goin' 'round ta yer Aunt Birdie?  I need ta talk ta yer momma."

Joey smiled at his mother and ran away.  They heard him laugh as Red's voice boomed.

Bobby stepped closer to Melinda, and took her hand.  She opened her mouth, and a puff of air escaped—but no words.

"I owe you an apology," Bobby said.  "I should've never left without talkin' ta you first.  An' I'm sorry I didn't even say goodbye."  He breathed in deeply and reached for her other hand.  "I left with the intention of never returnin'.  I knew it would be hard on ya, but I decided it would be better than you comin' with me an' getting' hurt.

"But some strange things happened after I left.  LeAnna's father spotted me in a little town 'bout half a day's ride from here.  He followed me 'til dusk an' I guess planned on killin' me while I slept.  But I never went to sleep.  Somethin' kept me awake.  The next day when I stopped for lunch, Bledsoe was tryin' ta sneak up on me an' ended up fallin' down the rocky hillside where I'd stopped.  He was hurt pretty bad, so I looked fer somewhere ta take 'im for help.  I found a house, but there was no doctor for dozens of miles in any direction.  The man who owned the house turned out ta be a retired judge an' had seen me on a wanted poster.  I told 'im my story, an' he believed me.

"The next mornin', we were gonna take Bledsoe ta town, but when he woke up, all he wanted ta do was kill me.  So the judge made him a deal.  They played poker.  If the judge won, Bledsoe would clear my name.  If Bledsoe won, he got ta take a shot at me.  While they were playin', the judge remembered somethin' and upped the ante.  If Bledsoe lost, he also had to turn himself in."

Bobby stopped for a breath, and Melinda who had stood in awe, listening to the story, suddenly realized how dreadful she must look.  She withdrew one of her hands and ran her fingers though her hair in an attempt to smooth the tangles the wind had so generously put there.  She noticed Bobby had stopped talking.  He was watching her every move.

"Why did LeAnna's father have to turn himself in?" she asked.  She belched quietly, a result of the onion she had eaten, and placed her hand over her mouth.  Her cheeks blushed.  "Oh, excuse me.  I'm so embarrassed.  I ate an onion from the garden.  I…" 

He smiled and raised a hand to stop her.  "It's quite alright.  You even burp cute."

She giggled and asked her question again.  "Why did he have to turn himself in?"

"Maybe you should sit down for the rest," Bobby suggested.  "You're not gonna believe this."  He lifted her to the top run of the fence.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Bledsoe was the man who killed John," Bobby said quietly.  "_He was the gambler."_

"You're kidding?"  Her eyes grew wide.  "Is he in jail?"

"You could say that," Bobby said.  "The judge won the poker game, an' Bledsoe got angry an' started coughin' up blood.  The judge went ta hook up the wagon as ta git 'im to a doctor, but Bledsoe died before he got back."

"So are you still wanted for LeAnna's murder?" Melinda wondered.

"No," Bobby smiled.  "The judge is takin' care of it for me."

"Are you going to stay here then?"

"That all depends."

"Upon what?"  With one hand, she twisted her blowing hair into a knot and pushed her glasses up her nose with the other.

"It all depends," he said, "on…"  He pulled her into his arms and planted her firmly back on the ground.  He knelt on one knee in front of her.  "Depends on if you'll marry me or not.  Melinda Warren, will you be my wife?"

She gasped, and her breath seemed to catch in her throat.  Of course she'd marry him.  She didn't want anything more.  But once again she was speechless.  When the simple word would not come, she nodded her answer.

Bobby seemed to melt into the grass.  He honestly had not known whether she would say yes or no.  But now his worry was over.  Melinda had agreed to marry him.  He stood to his feet.  "Let's go, then."  He took her hand once more and pulled her beside him.

"Go where?  Where are we going?" she asked.

"To get married."

"Now?"  She stopped in her tracks.  "I can't.  I look horrible."

Bobby halted his steps and turned to her.  He smiled sweetly.  "You look more beautiful than ever."  He leaned toward her.

"Don't kiss me," she said.  "I smell like a giant onion."

"I don't care," he smiled and kissed her softly.  "Marry me now.  I can't wait another minute to have you as my wife.  I love you so much."

"I love you, too, but it will take awhile to make the arrangements anyway."

"The arrangements have already been made.  Pastor Smith is waitin' with Red an' Birdie."  He lifted her chin with his fingertips.  "Please."

She shrugged her shoulders and giggled.  "Okay."

He scooped her up and carried her past the corner of the barn.  "We're ready."  He continued holding her.

"Aren't you going to put me down first?" Melinda asked.

"Nope," Bobby replied.  "Seems fittin' ta be carryin' ya while we get married.  Isn't that all I've done the past week?"

Everyone laughed.

The pastor performed a short ceremony ending with the couple's "I do's."  Bobby kissed his new wife tenderly.  "I love you, Mrs. Lester."

Melinda's eyes twinkled at the sound of her new name.  "And _I love _you,_ Mr. Lester."_

"I told you not to call me that," Bobby smiled.  She smiled back at him.

Red, Birdie, and Joey laughed and cheered, and Joey skipped to his momma's side.  "Can I call you 'daddy'?" he asked Bobby.

"I'd like that very much."

Melinda reached for them both.

"Mama," Joey added, "Do you remember that night when I told ya that I was prayin' fer somethin' an' you asked what it was an' I said it was a s'prise?"

"Yes, sweetie, I remember."

"I _told _you you'd like it," Joey said.

Melinda wrinkled her brow in confusion.  "Told me I'd like what?"

"My s'prise," the boy replied.  "This is my s'prise.  I was prayin' for a new daddy, an' Jesus answered my prayer the way He seen best-like."


End file.
